Travels of the East
by barefootbean
Summary: Having an identity crisis, Ike tries to leave behind the skeletons in his closet by escaping East. Striving to migrate her nation simultaneously, Nailah by chance sets off a catastrophic chain of fatal events affecting everyone & everything she knows. N/R
1. Nostalgia

**[A/N:]:** Hello, everyone. This story has a tendency to go through edits periodically, so as to why chapters may be slow coming, that is the main cause. Just a little warning in advance so nobody is surprised by my tardiness, and goes, "What's this? Hiatus? No way!" because that's not what's really going on. Just me, being slow, and being distracted by various shiny objects. Pretty. :)

But yes, humor aside, to get on with it... So people have an idea of what to expect with this story, here is a list of a few things that readers may want to know about in advance:

_-Post-game story  
__-Lots of overwhelming amounts detail  
__-T Rating for this story covers sexual content, swearing, and violence  
__-Multiple pairings; some canon, some not  
__-Multi-chapter oriented fic  
__-Slow updates (this is not the only story I'm focusing on, currently)  
__-Edits and original material  
__-A bit of a trial and error story (never committed myself to a multi-chap before)  
__-Dialogue will become more frequent with story progression  
__-Story should stick fairly close to canon (I like my facts accurate, so feel free to correct me if I perchance present some falsehoods; I would be more than happy to correct them)_

...There. I think that about covers it! If anyone is curious about this story or whatnot, please feel free to PM me, or drop a review, or what-say-you. Also, this isn't important and feel free to skim over it, but I do plan on updating whether I receive reviews or not. I realize that I used to ask for reviews, but I'd just like to say now that if you liked what you read, or you found something particularly odd worded or something that stood out in either a good or negative way, please let me know! There is no better motivation or reward for an author than knowing people enjoy reading what you write, or wanting to offer criticism to help improve. I'm still learning as I go about this, so any encouragement given would be highly appreciated!

But yes. I have a tendency to ramble (as you delightful readers can probably see for yourself here, ha), but anyhow... I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it, and hope you all have a wonderful amazing day wherever you are. Yes. I shall shut up now. :)

* * *

_**Edited 11/27/2011**_

**I. Nostalgia**

He was sure that he would not leave with regrets.

Looking back on days long past, and seeing how much his reputation as a man had changed, Ike was sure he had made up his mind. He had stayed up late in the middle of the night, sorting through useless trinkets and possessions of his, recalling every single memory that they triggered. Whether they were painful or enjoyable, they were his own, and he did not regret a single one of them. Excluding everyone else's thoughts on the matter but his own, he knew that his resolve would stand. Persuasion would not sway him, nor would briberies of any kind. His choice was final, and it would not be changed.

Ike was leaving for a better life, where someone else could have a chance at the glory that he had achieved through his heroics, or simply so he could live in peace and see places he had never thought much about. Ike knew that if he left for someplace new, he could start over again, and make things right in a different way. He could live a normal life, or at least one that passed for it.

Through his later years, Ike was always that one person that people complimented, even though he was just as guilty as the next person for making mistakes. When he was corrected on some occasions, people never dared to undermine him. They held respect for him, even if they didn't know him. It had never been like that when he was a teen, but that's the way it should have been, and was. Ike often thought about the events that had made him receive respect in those fashions, made him become the person who he was now…

It was always nowadays, _Oh, I've heard 'bout you! You were Greil's boy, right? Who led the army?_

_Or, Blimey, you killed a goddess! And you're a sell-sword? What skills you must possess for someone of your stature!_ To Ike, it was painful listening to those statements. At times he wanted to flee the premises, just to escape the praises that he had earned, and not look back.

He was not cut out to be a figurehead, much less a general. He had told people time and time again, but they never listened. It was arguable, without a doubt, about his skills with cajoling others into doing their jobs and righting the wrong, but it was not something that Ike had any appreciation or love for. He had returned a princess to her rightful throne, gained the trust of an empress, defeated the man who killed his father, and then dispatched the main antagonist of a whole goddamn war. Needless to say, Ike was made a hero, and in the eyes of everyone, had become a nominal leader worth following. He didn't want that type of life though.

It was bad enough that people always automatically expected him to take off after his father, Gawain.

Without a doubt, Ike was definitely his father's son. Everyday as he aged, he began to look more like him: well-defined muscles, chiseled face, stoic expression, calloused hands of a soldier, skilled with the blade like no other…all those traits defined him. Ike had wanted to make his father proud—by leading the mercenary company in his stead and keeping the 'family' together…keeping up what the company was originally created for, and eventually becoming a peerless swordmaster. Ike's strong-will and good friends had helped him accomplish all that he had set out for, and a lot more.

But…Ike hadn't gotten to live a normal life when Greil had died, and was instead thrust into a role he hadn't been ready for. Helping Elincia save Crimea and claim her rightful throne had been difficult, extremely so, since Ike had just taken command of his father's company. But somehow he had managed, and three years later Ike was involved in another war—with everything he had attained in his life, and everybody's lives he cherished on the line. Ike had gained enough experience by then to learn the responsibility that came with being a leader, and had learned well from it. He was strong and capable, and had become the figure of a man equal to that of the Daein Rider, Gawain. What people didn't seem to understand though was that Ike wasn't Gawain, nor was he Greil. Ike's heroics were his own.

Gawain was a famous, powerful, respected Daein Rider while he had served under the Mad King Ashnard. Greil was the mercenary that he had become when he had fallen for the Palmeni Priestess Elena. While Ike's strength certainly came from Gawain, his logic and behavior came from Greil. Ike was his own person through and through; he had his strengths and he had his weaknesses.

Everyone that Ike knew believed he would turn out to be exactly like Gawain or Greil. Queen Elincia, Titania, King Caineghis—even Volke, the secretive assassin that had aided Ike in the Mad King's War, had on an occasion mentioned Ike turning out to be his father's son. Ike had felt honored when he had said that, as that was about the greatest compliment he could ever receive, but at the same time, he was…disappointed. Sure, Ike took off after his parents, which was only natural, but didn't he have his own character? Wasn't he his own person?

If he became his father, than who would be Ike?

Oh—it wasn't that Ike wasn't unappreciative, it was that people weren't seeing him for what he really was, and that's what really bothered him. He didn't care what people thought about him for the most part, it was only when they were wrong that it made him frustrated. As in everyone assuming Ike was his father.

He was a mercenary—a simple mercenary by the name of Ike. Not a God or a Noble or a Hero, or Gawain/Greil, like people thought. Ike didn't fight for personal glory or attention. He fought for survival, for coin, for the righteous, and as proven in the last war, for his friends as well; when they were in the right, that was. His company was a main priority of his life.

But Ike wasn't just leaving because of the comparisons people made on him and his father—it was really the fact that he just needed a break. He, in all honesty, couldn't even recall the last time he had gotten the chance to sit down, put his feet up and take a break from his mercenary work. It seemed that his life always had something to throw at him, something more for him to do, another decision that needed to be made. The list was endless.

It was nothing that his mercenary company couldn't handle without him—The Hero of Tellius simply wasn't in demand anymore. There were no wars left to fight, no battles left to wage, no bandits to be killing, no Goddesses to be slaying; Ike was a free man, but even so, he still felt shackled, and as if someone had thrown away the key.

Every one of his actions were his choice when they were made, and Ike had told that to his mercenary company time and time again. He weighed his decisions carefully, and was sure to grasp the consequences before he acted. Ike only hoped that when he didn't tell his crew of his latest purpose, that they would understand why. Why he had to leave Crimea behind and go somewhere new, why he would be going alone for the most part, and why he did not know the outcome for once. It countered his morals, but Ike wasn't bothered enough to change his choice. It was too late for regression as it was, considering the direction his life had taken him, he couldn't bother to be concerned anymore.

Those times had past.

Blinking wearily, Ike hauled his worn carcass out of his bed and sat up. The straw mattress crackled quietly under his weight, but he had long ago acquainted himself to the sounds; they were nothing but static in his ears.

He began his customary routine of waking up, popping various joints along his upper body as he assembled his thoughts. He had never been much of a morning person, despite the fact that he rose early everyday, but because of his lack of sleep during the night, the fact seemed to present itself more than usual. He could already feel the headache coming on and he had only just opened his eyes.

Glancing around his expanse of a bedroom, Ike reached for his boots and garments at the end of the mattress, and began dressing earnestly. His room in all honesty wasn't very large, or spectacular. Made of cedar wood, everything smelled very earthy, and looked furbished. If he didn't leave his clothes and armor lying around the room all the time though, it would appear as though it were unoccupied.

A large window north of the door above his bed allowed for fresh air, and Ike often left it unlatched due to the stuffiness of said cedar room. He'd typically wake in the early winter mornings to an annoyed Mist as she would scuttle about his premises, yelling at him for letting all the heat out of the fort. Ike would smile and promptly throw it open farther until more inhabitants would join Mist in their complaining and Ike would be overruled, and forced to close it.

As Ike cast a brief glimpse at the window then, he realized there was a chance that he wouldn't have memories like that after he left. He didn't know how to react to that thought, but for old time's sake, he opened it, and pleasantly cool morning air filled the room once more.

He walked around the room a bit, his body stiff from his awkward sleeping position during the night. Sore, he reached for his packed satchel, the holy blade Ragnell laid out beside it in its leather sheath. Ike picked it up first and fastened it to his side securely, fingering the hilt comfortingly. Ragnell had been in his father's care at one time, so Ike felt complimented to be wielding something of his, though he had admitted to liking his sword Ettard more, as it was more practical for day to day use.

Sure, Ragnell truly belonged to Begnion truly, but he hadn't refused when the Empress had stopped him before her departure after the goddess had been felled, muttered a simple, _I think that belongs to you,_ and hadn't looked back as she had left the Tower of Guidance.

After a small internal debate, Ike strapped Ettard over his back as well, rolling his shoulders only slightly when the cold hilt dug into his spine. Two swords were better than one, he believed. If he were ever lacking for entertainment, for lack of better things to amuse him he could teach himself to wield both swords at once. Of course, he was stealthier with a single blade, but...

Ike made his way stealthily out of his room, his satchel flung carelessly over a wide shoulder. He reached for the handle of his door and twisted, wincing at the disturbing creak that resulted. It was still pretty early in the morning, and Ike didn't want to wake anyone. He had packed the night before just so he could leave early, but his plan wouldn't work if he woke someone up and was caught. Than he would have some explaining to do, and Ike wasn't so sure he wanted to deal with that.

He wasn't a coward, but he was smart enough to know that a confrontation would be anything but peaceful.

_Sorry friends._

The door closed with a soft click behind him, and Ike strode down the hallway in slow and silent precise steps. He couldn't afford to waste time, but even so, it was hard to simply walk away from the life he had right in front of him. It was funny that he was leaving for something knew when he already had everything.

Except the freedom of an identity of his own.

Several doors lined the dark walls, each one of them containing one of the Greil Mercenaries sleeping figures. Mia's door on his left, Rhy's across from hers, Gatrie's next to his, Titania's next to Oscar's, and so on. Ike knew every room by heart. Subsequently, after the Mad King's War, he was the one that had the fort rebuilt, with pay from Elincia during her conquest for the throne.

Three years ago, when the mercenaries were escorting Princess Elincia away from Daein soldiers, Ike's father had the fort burned to the ground. It would only be natural that he would know which room belonged to whom, being the constructor, and the boss of them all. And naturally, it would have been silly not to.

So it was also only natural that he became rigid though when he passed by a certain door on his right.

A slender, brass curved handle, a small bed close to a thin glass pane, a stool in the corner of the room for no other reason but to occupy the space… Ike very well knew who slept in that room. It took all of his strength to not reach out and twist that brass handle, to go in and tell the inhabitant of that room everything that was eating at his mind. To tell what his thoughts were, about his memories, his burdens… how very much he wanted to confide in that one person about how foul his thoughts had seemed to become.

But he wouldn't. Ike wouldn't dare. After all, hadn't his sister suffered enough without him leaving her as well?

He owed Mist a lot, and felt a bit terrible knowing that his sudden disappearance would eat his sister up inside. It couldn't be helped though. Mist was very sensitive; no matter how much she tried to hide it behind her brave face and smile, Ike could always tell when daily life was hounding her. She would act goofy and childlike at times, just to cheer up others when they were down, but those times in her life were long gone, and now Mist was a grown, married woman with values and a life to make her own. Ike knew that better than anyone, and that's why he wanted to leave without a word—he wouldn't interrupt her life in the same way that his was. Abruptly and painfully. But if she knew the real reasons for why he was going, that would hurt her even more, and Ike wouldn't—couldn't do that to her. Not her. Ike would continue to protect his sister, even if it was from himself and something he didn't want to name.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a sloppily folded piece of paper. He had written out a letter the night before for his sister and everyone else, though felt absolutely ridiculous when he read them over. Ike would have much rather have told his mercenaries face to face the news of his departure, but he knew that the older members would never let him go. Ike hated when things got complicated.

It was so much simpler not to show his face, even if it did make him a coward.

Exhaling, Ike began to weigh his options carefully in his mind: Give the letter to Mist or don't give it to her. The decision was surprisingly an easy one for Ike, and hardly seemed worth the contemplation.

The fort was extremely quiet, so Ike could here the gentle scuffling of sheets coming from his sister's room. He froze, afraid that he had woken her simply from his leaping breaths. He was lucky though, and the scuffling ceased a few seconds later, assuring him that Mist was still asleep.

Exhausted and torn with all the decisions piling up, he leaned his forehead against the cool door, and took a deep breath, hoping for one last moment before he left for good that this was the right choice.

He had never been good with his emotions. Even his sister had thought so.

When his father had died, Ike hadn't even been able to bring himself to shed a single tear—and he had hated that. Now knowing that he was leaving Mist behind, as well as the rest of his family, he found that his mind was repeating the exact same thing that it had done years ago: Suppressing thoughts and feelings and trying to make him focus on other things—like the fact that he needed to leave before dawn.

The mercenaries were Ike's family, and his closest companions. It bothered him that he couldn't cry for them. But it troubled him even more when he realized that he couldn't cry for his sister either. Ike knew by now that that was just the way he dealt with stressful situations, but that didn't mean he had to like it. In all honesty, he felt disgusted with himself. He could change that though, couldn't he?

Taking another deep breath, he opened his sister's door with a flick of the wrist.

Stepping into Mist's room, he was immediately overwhelmed with how chilly the air was. Goosebumps ran over his bare forearms, and he shivered slightly, even though he wasn't cold. It was to be expected though, as autumn was there and soon winter would be on its way in Crimea as well. Taking one glance at her open window though explained the breeze he had felt.

It was almost a shame to close the shutters on what was looking to be a nice day.

Maneuvering carefully as to not step on anything, Ike made his way over towards his sister's sleeping figure. Mist's possessions were scattered all around her room in various places: her magic staffs propped up next to a small bookcase, the magic sword Florete leaning against the dresser, and her garments sprawled awkwardly over that none single stool, lonely in the northern corner, next to the window. The whole room had a very homey feel to it, and the smell of cedar only added on to that sensation. Despite that though, her room still held that same furbished look as Ike's own, no matter how messy she made it.

Sighing quietly, he picked up one of his sister's few books off the floor and placed it on her dresser. Squinting at the odd cover though, he couldn't help but shake his head in mild reverence. Only Mist would be brave enough to take one of Soren's tomes out of boredom and leave it on the floor in reach of mildew.

Securing Soren's book back under his arm, he quietly moved his way over to his sister's window. Sticking his head out, he took a deep breathe of the crisp morning air, almost instantly feeling rejuvenated. The stars were still out, bright overhead yet fading near the mountains to the far east where the sun would rise, the ultimate star of them all. Fog was lingering throughout the surrounding area, a silver blanket over green, and it made even him shiver simply by looking at it.

It was obvious that winter would be on its way soon enough.

Knowing he couldn't stand around admiring the scene around him forever, Ike moved his head back and pulled the soft fabric delicately over the open window with a soft _tick_ over the catch, stepping away to reach his sister as mutely as possible.

Mist was an extremely light sleeper though, and she sat up in bed abruptly, rubbing one of her eyes to see what clamor had disrupted her sleep. The white colored nightgown she wore stood out in the night, illuminating her small, bony shoulders. Kneeling beside her, Ike gently pulled up her blankets and wrapped her up in them. She looked cold, despite the pile of blankets that covered her. Her wispy locks were sticking up in little brown clumps, clinging to her face. Sleep had obviously come to her easily enough during the chilly night.

Blinking fiercely, she glanced at him. "Ike?"

He didn't answer, instead reaching out and patting his sister reassuringly on the crown of her head, smoothing the flyaways out gently. He was really going to miss her, he realized, even though she drove him mad with worry just about every single day, even if the worrisome affairs _were _simply trivial. If it had been any other day, any other time, he wouldn't be feeling as divided as he was then. No words—or pointless tears, he confirmed suddenly—would be able to convey Ike's sentiments towards his leaving Mist and everyone else behind. But mostly her… after all, she was his sister. And even though blood ties were hardly important in his family, knowing that he simply wasn't the last of his father and mother's lineage was a strange comfort that he was glad to be able to share. It wasn't a burden one should ever carry on their own.

"Ike?" Startled, he met her gaze, and her bleary eyes told him she was still half-asleep. Suddenly smiling, she mumbled, "Did you need something?" and it was an affectionate look he had seen many times over and never could quite get out of his head whenever he woke her. She did look like Elena, even though her hair was brown like his father's and she was skilled with a sword, the redeeming qualities were there.

He struggled to form a logical sentence. She wouldn't be so affectionate when she learned of his disappearance later in the day. "...No, I was just checking in on you," he murmured. He let his hand slide off her head. "...You should go back to sleep anyway. It's still early in the morning."

Mist gave him a briefly annoyed look, but it was wasted with her hair sticking up at the angle that it was and being buried beneath a pile of blankets bigger than herself. "So you come in here to wake me up then just to tell me to go back to sleep again? If you wanted to speak to Boyd, you should have checked _his_ room _first, _Ike." She let out a quiet groan and collapsed back into her pillow.

Momentarily, he was at a loss.

But of course she would think he was looking for Boyd. He'd walked in more than once on early morning days only to find them both sleeping; private moments that shouldn't have been his to witness.

"Great. Next time, I'll be sure to wake him first, and he can blame you."

He didn't mention the fact that there wouldn't be a next time.

"I'm sure we'll have a_ very _draining argument." Her voice was full of sarcasm, and Ike scowled and tried to think of better days when _she_ was the innocent one of the family.

Though in all honesty, he was hardly bothered. Mist and Boyd had gotten married shortly after the end of the continental war to celebrate, and he couldn't bring himself to make any objections. Having known Boyd since he was a sprout and could hardly pick up a sword much less a hatchet and having come to trust his sister throughout the years, it was hard to say anything against their relationship.

Besides, even then, he'd been thinking of leaving Crimea behind. It hadn't been much of a surprise upon seeing the ring on his sister's finger not so long ago. How Body had been able to afford it with the pay Ike was giving him had made him feel uneasy however, and slightly bewildered as well. Work done by artisans cost most people an eye or two or a various limb, but Boyd was hardly missing anything. Except on the occasion, perhaps his brain... but that was a different story all-together. The proposal he'd made to his sister was what had been the last straw. Ike's final prompt.

He knew he could leave feeling somewhat content with his decision. Mist would be one thing he wouldn't have to worry about too much.

Well, perhaps a bit.

"Is something bothering you, Ike?" Mist looked at him in mild concern, covering her mouth when she yawned again, her wedding ring emitting a small wink of silver from Ashera-knows _what_ light source. Ike opened his mouth, but settled with just shaking his head instead. She would be able to tell if he was lying through his teeth.

The issue with sisters and their intellect.

"Just go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you." Mist complied with a shrug.

Ike ran his large, calloused hand over her small head again, a simple thing to do. Mist snuggled back in her bed, pulling the heavy quilt further up her frame, and her action felt like a hint that told him he should be going. But he couldn't help to pause, and instead turned to contemplate her silently. Her back was turned to him, and the blankets moved slightly with every silent breath she took.

Ike felt a bit awkward, being so affectionate to his sister.

Years ago, he had often seen his father and Titania tuck Mist in bed when they were both children, whilst they still dreamt the recurring nightmares of monsters and strange men living under their beds. When Greil had later died though, it had been Ike Mist would often go to see in the middle of the night, looking for reassurance. The red-haired paladin mourned too much at that time to have been able to offer any sense of the security that Mist would have wanted, and so the responsibility had fallen to him.

Ike had tried his best to comfort Mist, but he was no father, and being assuasive was not a quality Ike had ever held high in self-esteem.

Of course, Mist was the only one that ever knew that. Ike's empty words may not have provided much, but the fact that he had attempted something so out of his league had said more than any conversation could have, and for that, Mist was appreciative, he knew.

But is still didn't erase the awkwardness that smothered him.

After making sure his sister had fallen back to sleep, Ike pulled the letter from his pocket once more, and laid it beside her pillow with renewed fortitude. When Mist woke again, that would be the first thing she would read in the morning. And probably the last for the afternoon, but he pushed the dreary thought out of his head.

This was no time to start second guessing himself.

He needed to leave.

Ike gave his sister one last glance before turning away from her, feeling his chest loosen slightly. He knew that it was for the best that he hadn't told her face to face the news, but that didn't mean he hadn't felt guilty. He could only hope that she would stay safe in his absence, and that he would see her again... eventually.

Ike closed the door behind him without a sound, empty words and thoughts for his sister playing in his head like a mantra he wanted to forget.

He didn't like lying, but somehow... if felt justified. Even so, two wrongs didn't make a right. But was this really wrong? Wasn't he doing her a favor?

Exhaling in a rush, he slipped down the hallway. There was no time to stop and think. A single glance out the window told him all he needed to know, the stars fading to mere specks and the mountains in the distance brighter than he recalled them being only moments ago.

Time was not on his side...

And neither were Mia's waking hours. In all his stalling, he'd almost forgotten to account for her. There was no accounting for exactly when she'd rise and rush to knock down his door for a morning duel, but another side glance out the window told him it'd be _very_ soon.

Wallowing down out of the corridor, Ike startled when a small shadow moved from the corner of his vision. Backing up, he slunk into the dark hallways and listened, his breaths still and silent. Immediately, Ike felt ridiculous. What was there to hide from in his own home? His shadow?

Ike crept along the walls towards the kitchen where the movements had come from, stiffening when another shadow passed in his vision. It was awfully large to be a person, Ike thought, though it was more than likely simply an affect wrought by candle light. He focused again when a definite sound reached his ears, now that he was closer. Pondering what it was, the sound came at him again, and Ike realized with clarity, that he was hearing the skitter-scratching of pen on paper. He immediately knew who the shadow's figure belonged to.

Advancing out of the darkness and into the dimness of the kitchen, Ike strained his eyes in the direction of the person's outline, and almost smiled, despite his usual stoicness. Ike blamed his terrible plans for the humor that they always provided, no matter how insignificant.

Soren was sitting at the table, his back to Ike, working on what he assumed to be the stock papers for the months supplies.

His back was hunched over the kitchen counter, feet dangling from the bar stool, his regular black robes dangling off him unkemptly. A large melted candle sat in front of Soren, having been lit for a while Ike figured, by the amount of wax around it. Soren's features were hard to make out, but Ike could see that his ebony hair was sticking up in front of his face. Ike imagined his companion had been sitting there well over curfew, pulling and twisting his locks into the late hours of the night whenever sleep threatened to claim him. Soren would pull all-nighters all the time if Ike didn't catch him up during his late circuitous routes to the kitchen out of the desire to move around.

He watched as Soren reached up and proved his theory, brushing the fallen strands out of his face once more with a flick of his fingers. Instead of continuing his work though, the archsage stretched and yawned quietly from his position, before reaching for the nearby mug that sat within reach. Ike assumed it be ale, as that was the only drink the mercenaries could afford that wasn't sweet and stingy well water.

Soren took another sip out of his mug, his head supported by one of his hands on the wooden counter. He appeared to be contemplating something, what exactly Ike wasn't sure of. It was always hard to tell with Soren. The fact that his back was turned didn't help.

"Ike, I know you're there," Soren said suddenly, turning his head and raising a thin eyebrow at the startled mercenary, small shadows under his bemused eyes. "You've been standing there for a while now. Is there something you needed?"

Of course Soren would notice him. Of course Soren would suspect something was wrong. And of course, Ike wouldn't make it out of the fort without being caught by at least somebody in his attempts of leaving everything behind.

No, of course not. Nothing was ever easy.

Sighing, Ike stepped forward, scratching at his neck blankly, cover blown, dignity murdered by his own idiocy. "...How'd you notice me?" he asked after a minute. "I thought I was silent."

"You were," Soren answered.

"Then how...?"

"Intuition," he said nonchalantly. Another sip of his drink, and Ike realized he was staring.

"...You too?"

"Ike, I truly have no idea what we're even discussing right now."

Great. Soren had it the same as his sister.

_Intuition... _He could have done with a generous dose of that.

With a scowl forming on his face, Ike walked across the expanse of rough stone floors towards his companion, and took a seat at the head of the table. The stool wiggled under his weight, and Ike was immediately reminded that it was an additional item that needed fixing in the fort from months ago.

Among other things, of course.

Like his stealth.

"You're up earlier than usual," Soren observed. He went to take another graceful sip of his ale, but after a side long glance, paused at the look on Ike's face and set it aside with a soft _klak_.

He didn't know what Soren had seen, but hoped he would at least spare him the trouble of a confrontation.

Ike casually pulled Soren's book from under his arm, and laid it before him. "Not really." He grimaced. "Couldn't sleep, so I checked in on Mist. Found your missing tome on her floor while I was in there," he added. Soren spared his book only a brief glance.

"Thanks," he murmured, setting it to the side distractedly. He glanced back up, and Ike found himself being analyzed almost instantly by a pair of crimson eyes. Startled, he leaned back slightly and his seat creaked its disapproval.

"Sor–?"

"You've just finished packing, correct?" An astute glance moments later latched onto the satchel over his shoulder and Ike tensed.

This was going all wrong, much too quickly.

"Packing…?" Ike let his voice trail off innocently. Surely his actions had escaped Soren's perception? He had worked hard to make sure that he would go undetected, and it'd be impossible trying to escape under the circumstances.

Soren gave Ike _The Look_ and tapped his fingers once.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" Soren's tone was accusatory. "Or am I mistaken?"

Ike turned his gaze to his hands, suddenly finding his torn gloves quite interesting. He didn't say anything, didn't meet his friend's eyes. He knew it was impossible to get anything past his staff oficer. "Well?" Soren declared, adding a bit of venom to his voice. Ike frowned and glared at Soren incredulously, his patience having worn thin throughout his uncomfortable night.

"Well what, Soren? What am I supposed to say? 'Good-bye, hope you have a nice life?'" Ike sighed in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the stress piling once more. He needed to pull himself together, as getting angry would less than likely solve anything. It was exactly why he hadn't wanted to say anything to anyone though in the first place. It would only start arguments that Ike didn't have the time nor endurance for. Besides, he hated arguing with Soren; his friend would often get distraught afterwards and lock himself in his room for hours at a time, not wanting to talk or answer to anyone. Ike was slowly learning that he needed to be careful with what he said at times.

Ike examined Soren's actions carefully, watching him as he organized his papers into one, neat, collective pile, before opening the heavy tome he had retrieved. The archsage appeared strangely at ease, despite their small outbursts at one another only seconds before. Calm before the storm? There was a likely answer. Ike began to feel weary, and a bit concerned—for his well-being. He eyed Soren with caution.

"Don't try to deny it… What are you planning?"

Soren frowned, contemplating. He didn't bother looking up. "That's the wrong question to ask," he stated finally, tracing a finger down a yellowing piece of parchment. "What am I planning? How about yourself? You're a terrible sneak, Ike. The least you can do is tell me when you're up to something, and then I won't have to go investigating."

Ike glowered and waved his hands in the air mockingly, "All right, all right, you caught me. What now?"

Soren's look could have carved him a new set of arms.

"Aren't you going to ask me if I want to come before you go rampaging off across the land?"

Ike swore inwardly and tried not to meet his companion's gaze. "...I... wouldn't ask that of you." Soren snorted in disbelief instantly.

"And why not? Unless for some reason you don't want me to come along... I have no obligations here."

Ike looked at Soren in mild surprise. He hadn't been expecting that. Soren's expression was completely serious, and tucking his loose papers neatly in the the binding of his book, he flipped the cover shut with ease and flippantly raised an eyebrow at him. "...To repeat the question... Are you going to ask me to come... or am I going to be forced to invite myself along?"

"Hey, wait a minute before you decide anything." Ike rubbed at the back of his neck and met Soren's gaze. He had no idea what Soren was really thinking, but hesitantly, he started in anyway: "...What about the rest of the company? Are you really that willing to leave them all behind just because of me?"

"Did you consider the possibility that I hadn't intended to leave before even yourself?" He startled at that.

"Were you?"

"...No."

"Then why did you say that?"

"Because it was a prospect." Ike sighed and gave Soren a hard look.

"You have a life here for yourself, you know. A roof over your head, a family that cares, a job that pays well–" Soren grimaced and waved off his last comment and Ike trailed off. They weren't really getting anywhere, he could tell.

"What _about_ my job, Ike? What about _yours_? This is your company, after all. I don't really have a reason to stay if you're leaving." He poked at his mug idly. "Also... while we're on the topic of leaving... were you even planning to say goodbye to any of us?"

Ike was at a loss. "Soren..." The sage sighed.

"I presumed as much," he said drily. "You wanted to leave before anyone woke. I'm glad you came here then." Soren adeptly blew out the candle in front of him and hopped off his stool lightly, his book tucked under one arm. "I suggest we get a move on then. We'll have time to talk later." He bent down and reached for something on the floor, his arm robes dragging slightly, but for what exactly her was grasping for Ike couldn't tell, and didn't really hold any concern for at the moment.

"'We?'' Ike asked, not having missed the plural in Soren's sentiment. "Since when did my traveling plans involve you coming along? I don't even know where I'm going to go!" He hadn't intended to sound harsh, but he saw Soren wince anyway.

"...For a while, even though you may not have known it," he said evenly, in his typical 'let's change the topic, please' fashion, pulling out a bag that had been hiding under the table and out of sight. "I'm mostly packed. I just need to put these in here…" Soren flipped the cover of the leather satchel and stuffed several items from the table in it, most of it being parchment and the tome rescued from his sister's clutches. Ike recognized a small bedroll, and what appeared to be an undersized rationing of food already confined within the interior of the bag, wrapped around with a bundle of crude cloths.

It looked as though Soren was being serious.

Without warning, Ike reached out and snatched the satchel out of Soren's grasp, restraining him from further packing. Soren was much too obstinate for his own good, always forcing certain matters, and Ike feared that that was what would lead to his down fall eventually. So he was sure to speak slowly, ignoring the his objections, wanting his companion to hear every word, and realize what he would be condemning himself to.

"Soren… are you absolutely sure you want to come?"

"Ike–" he started.

"–Where I end up going, I may not return." His tone was full of warning. "Ranulf will be accompanying me, so I won't be traveling completely alone. But I know you still dislike the laguz…again, are you absolutely sure that you really want to come? I won't hold it against you if you do decide to stay. …It would probably be better if you did, actually. They Greil Mercenaries would really be able to use your help."

Soren let out an irritated sigh, watching him steadily.

Ike didn't know what Soren would resort to do if he left him alone, but he assumed it would likely be something productive. When he wasn't occupied with work, he was reading, or among other things, writing up documents. Ike rarely saw the sage do anything else, except tear bandits apart on the battlefield, and that was reserved for the actual laborious parts of mercenary work.

Soren went to reach for his bag and Ike pulled it away. "Dammit Ike, I'm perfectly capable of making my decisions, thank you. I'm coming along with you. Bandits this time of year are obnoxious." Ike was able to recognize an excuse when he saw one.

But there was truly no deterring Soren.

"So you'll be alright with Ranulf coming along?" Soren snorted and stuffed his last book in his bag, giving Ike a peculiar look while he did so.

"…Do you really think I would let myself be bothered by Ranulf, of all the laguz? He's got nothing on Skrimir." Ike frowned, unsure whether that was a joke or a compliment on Ranulf's part, or something else all-together. It could mean anything with Soren.

"So... you'll be able to tolerate him then," he said carefully. Soren cocked an eyebrow.

"Was I not clear?"

"No."

"...Yes. I'll tolerate him."

Ike grinned. "Good. He's not as bad as you think he is, you know."

"Yeah he is," Soren replied, but Ike swore he saw the traces of a bemused smile cross his face while he said it.

A few seconds passed, and Ike watched as his companion finished tying the strands on his leather bag together. He stood up in a wave of black robes, and with an odd display of strength, managed to maneuver the leather thongs over his shoulder accordingly.

Ike silently crossed over to the wash basin and searched the cupboard above for where he had stashed his rations the night before. Strangely enough, the cupboard was empty. He paused, staring at it, certain he had placed them there. There was scuttling behind him, and then:

"Ike, I already grabbed what you had hidden away yesterday. If that was everything, I do believe it's time for us to get going." Of course Soren would have what he was looking for...

He stayed quiet, staring into the cupboard.

"...Ike? Are you all right?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "Not really. Just... recalling a few things. That's all." Exhaling, Ike closed the wooden door to the cabinet firmly and readied his own bag upon his shoulder, adjusting it to sit more comfortably against his shoulder blade. Soren was watching him wearily now.

"I almost get the feeling that I should be asking you if you really want to leave," he said carefully, to which Ike almost smiled.

_Of course._

"Then ask."

Soren hesitated for only a brief second, but it still felt terribly long in the silence between them. "Well then... Do you want to leave?"

Ike didn't even bat an eyelash, just slung his bag further up his shoulder and glanced around the room. "Yeah," he murmured. "I'm ready to move on." And this time, he meant it.

"...Alright. Let's go then."

Soren gave Ike what could only be described as a reassuring expression – though he could have worn it like a snarl, too – before he walked past the table they had been conversing at only minutes before and into the foyer and towards the door. Soren twisted the knob with one hand, gripped his bag with the other, and bumped the door open quietly with a robe-covered hip.

Ike waited until he disappeared out of view before following.

Early morning sunlight was beginning to filter over the mountain peaks in the distance, and Ike watched it in silence until Soren murmured something along the lines of a '_we really need to go'_ and he was snapped from his reverie by everything being set aglow by the sun's warm rays. It caressed his eyelids and turned Soren's hair a twisted shade of green and bathed the fort in a tinted yellow outline and made the fog outside look like stars.

Looking back was foolish, because nostalgia groped for him the moment he had.

"...Ike."

"Yeah, Soren?"

"The Greil Mercenaries... I think they'll be alright without you. It may take a while, but they'll undoubtedly adapt over time. In the meanwhile... try not to feel too guilty about what you're doing."

He wondered solemnly when Soren started sprouting words of wisdom like prose.

Either way, Ike nodded at his companion and gave his home one last glace, his eyes saying everything that he himself couldn't. He memorized the roofs, the walls, the door, the cracks in the slates and the small but endearing covering over his sister's window, that strangely enough, he could see from where he stood.

And he said goodbye to all of it in exchange for something new.

"Hey Soren."

"Yes?"

"Thanks... for you company. I'm glad you're coming along." The sage looked momentarily startled, but he picked non-existent flint from his robes after a minute and muttered a sheepish '_you're welcome'_ before setting off down the road again, and all was forgiven in the end, it seemed.

And as they set down the long, winding path to Melior, it was wise that Ike hadn't chosen to look back, because as that given moment nostalgia stood in that one endearing patched up window, with brown hair and blue eyes and a white nightdress and a ring upon her finger, holding in her grip a small crinkled letter, torn at the seams, and still ripping further yet.

* * *

**[A/N]:** Woo! This was painful to edit! Let's not do that again... Criticism, praises, or thoughts would be highly loved, by the way. An ecstatic thanks for reading this beast of a prologue! :)


	2. Of Parchments and Boots

**Genre: **Adventure/friendship  
**Words**_: _9,340+ **o.O**  
**Rating**_: _T for teen  
**Main Characters**_: _Ike and Nailah  
**Summary**_:_ Post RD. Several months after Ashera's defeat, Ike, Soren, and Ranulf leave for Hatari. Nailah decides she wants to reunite her lost nation with the rest of Tellius, but fate has a different idea in mind.

**(A/N): **In case anyone's interested, I put up the new prologue on the 16th, so…I HAVE been working on this story, just so you know. I actually finished the prologue a few days after New Years, and spent the rest of the time editing and forcing my poor, poor mother to proofread it, which she did gracefully (Thanks mom!). Anyhoo…I had hoped to get this chapter out much faster, but I'm glad I took my time on it. I'm happy with how it's turned out and I hope you readers think the same. :D

0o0o0o0

Travels of the East –barefootbean  
CHAPTER I**: **Of Parchments and Boots

Crimea- Melior  
The year 649, early autumn

0o0o0o0  
.

Ranulf never did like the rain in Crimea.

It was cold, wet, and not sticky sweet like it was in the humid forests of Gallia; where an abundance of tropical fruits would often grow around this time of year, it was the dying fields and gardens that Ranulf got the delight of seeing instead. The final harvests had already come and gone, leaving mud and decay in the places of what surely used to be corn fields. The stalks had yielded to the winds, bending and snapping as the heavy rains helped crush them into submission, a forecast for what the Crimean winter would likely bring.

Snow, and a quantity of mud.

Ranulf didn't like mud that much either, when he came to think about it. Walking through it was a nightmare; it would grip at his boots and pull him in ankle deep, and then victimize him when he would least expect it, causing his feet to tangle. After several disasters, Ranulf was deciding whether or not to wage a personal war on the land, just to save some of his pride.

But then again, he should have picked a better route to travel. There _was_ a reason for why highways were constructed, after all. Hiking through hills of bracken and tightly bound shrubs was a foolish mistake on his part, but luckily an easily fixed one at that.

Ranulf paused for a breather, and sat on the remains of a fallen tree. The briars and branches scratched at his bare arms, but he ignored it without much trouble. He was exhausted, beyond exhausted. Unfortunately, he had gotten a very late start leaving Fort Gebal that morning—due to a completely innate, irrational, _preposterous_ _Lethe_—and had been rushing to the rendezvous spot that Ike and he had agreed on for the last several hours of the day.

It was absolutely redundant, really. Ranulf was going to be late no matter what he did now to make up for the lost time, all because Lethe was having one of those days, and Skrimir always had to find some type of work for him to do.

Ranulf had been clear in telling Skrimir that he would be leaving that morning, and as even further forewarning, had told him two weeks _prior_ to his proposed departure to have him fill out any paperwork that needed doing then, that way Ranulf wouldn't get stuck with work at the last minute. Of course though, Skrimir had gotten busy with other propagandas that needed taking care of—really he was just training more of his laguz warriors, assigning captains and commanders to teams, _not that they were needed_—and had forgotten that Ranulf would not be available. And as Ranulf's unfortunate luck tended to go, he had gotten stuck with the lovely duty of now having to deliver treaties to Nevassa and Melior, all because Skrimir had yet to find someone to fill his position.

_Stupid lion. What does he think I trained Kyza for? A replacement, that's what!_

And than to top it off, Ranulf nearly got his head gnawed off by Lethe earlier in the morning. She was angered – cat scratch that, _furious_ - that he was leaving—she demanded answers, gripping Ranulf by the front of his tawny, deer hide jerkin, claming that he was betraying his laguz pride, eloping—Ranulf had gagged at her poor choice of word—with a beorc, and leaving when Gallia needed the help of an experienced diplomat like himself the most.

Of course, Ranulf tried to calm her, reassuring her that he wouldn't be gone forever, that he'd come back just to see his lover, making jokes—but that never went well with Lethe. Especially when she was mad.

"I can't believe you! You're going to mock me now?" Lethe hissed, outraged by his ludicrous jokes. "You think this is funny, Ranulf! What about what the people think? Does that not mean anything to you? And what about the King? He's only been ruling for several months! He still needs the proper guidance from an experienced warrior to rule appropriately."

Lethe huffed, chest heaving, and glared at Ranulf. He stood still, back against the enclosures of the outer walls of Fort Gebal, allowing the gentle fall breeze to blow away any harsh retort he himself may have been tempted to launch at her. Lethe always knew how to push his buttons, and which way to push them. Sometimes she would say too much, perhaps too little, and than Ranulf wouldn't be able to contain his outrage. He didn't want to deal with that.

He wanted to leave on _good terms_ with someone_. _Even if it was lethal Lethe he wanted to make peace with.

Ranulf sighed, familiar with her harsh behavior. "…Lethe, he's doing a great job. And don't deny it," he said quickly, cutting off her retort, "because we both know you'd be lying. Skrimir may be a blockhead sometimes, but I doubt you or any other laguz couldn't set him on the right path if he screwed something up. Heck, that's what I've been training Kyza for for the last couple of weeks. It's short notice, but I know he'll be fine."

Lethe glowered at him, stepping forward until she was within short distance of him. Her purple eyes narrowed down to slits and her brilliant orange cat ears laid flat against the crown of her head. Ranulf watched them idly from under the flaps of his soldier's hat as her tail flashed wildly, slashing back and forth like that of a beorc's sword. It was a clear sign that she was becoming impatient. When she was calm though, it was a sign she was lying. Her tail was often her downfall, ironically.

"I realize that Ranulf, but this is your duty to Gallia. This is what you have done all your life, what you were born for—trained for! And now you want to throw it away for some crazy journey that, allow me to quote, 'may not return from?' Doesn't service to a country mean anything to you at all?" Lethe crossed her arms, frustrated.

Ranulf sighed again, and blinked, beginning to weary from her constant barrage of challenges that morning. "I'm sure I've long since filled my so-called duty, Lethe. I've been at it for over forty years now! I've been in several wars! Heck, I fought Ashera along the side of King Caineghis! You were there; you know what I'm trying to say. I think it's fair enough to say that I deserve a break."

She snorted in disbelief. "A break, traveling? Surely you couldn't decide on something more productive to do? Training soldiers, for example. That would be highly practi—"

"Why are you so determined to change my mind?"

Lethe froze, her cat ears perking up in surprise. She glowered almost immediately. "What would make you think that?"

"Well, you keep suggesting different activities for me, an—"

"No," Lethe interrupted, eyebrows knitting together in irritation. "I'm trying to understand. I don't see why you would want to leave. It seems rather…inconsequential."

"Oh, I think I see what you mean…"

_No, not really, Lethe._

"Do you not want to live in Gallia anymore? What has made it lose its appeal to you?" She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall opposite Ranulf, settling herself comfortably. Stray strands of hair whipped around her face softly; burning gold despite the shade they made conversation in.

"No, it's not that…" Lethe's eyebrows resigned to knotting themselves permanently.

"Then what is it?" She asked with an air of impatience.

Ranulf gave Lethe a closer look. She never used to be so interested in his life. He wondered what was making her act so indifferent and curious. "Ike wants to go…sightseeing, _andddd_, since he was planning to go alone, I simply offered to accompany him. I think he could use the company—and besides, Skrimir's work will kill me otherwise, so it works out for both of us in the end." Ranulf finished with an unholy grin on his face. Lethe rolled her eyes exasperatedly.

"I already know _that, _Ranulf_. _And Ike can do whatever he wants with his mercenary life. It's his choice," Lethe added. "What I truly want to know is what you hope to accomplish from all this. You're a laguz; you have a country and a King to help lead…what do you find more important in traveling to you than this?"

"…Lethe, I don't know how I could explain this to you."

"Try me," she encouraged dryly. "I have a sister. I'm sure I've heard far worse."

Ranulf twitched slightly. It seemed the past wars _had_ inexplicably changed Lethe. She was no longer so angered and biased—in turn she had become more willing to understand and listen to others, something she used to flinch at the very thought of doing. Ranulf supposed it was her friendship with the Daein wyvern rider Jill, and maybe even from easy going Ike, that had caused her to change in the ways that she had. Before meeting any of them, she was as prejudiced as any other laguz. Now she was wiser.

Ranulf shrugged, feeling a bit out of place. Typically their positions were reversed. Lethe was the one who lectured him, not the other way around. But in a way, she still was, wasn't she?

_It's an odd role to play_, Ranulf thought demurely. He would give it a go anyway.

"Alright then; I'm leaving because there's a lot I've still yet to see. I want to go exploring—see some sights that haven't been ravaged by war or because of some political reason that I would need to do so. I want to see eastern Begnion's mountains, make a casual visit to see Nasir and Ena in Goldoa, have a friendly drink with the hawk tribe. I just want to travel, you know? Without it being work related. I've been living here in Gallia all my life, serving Caineghis, training troops…but now I want to do something different. Do something for myself for once. There are so many places I would like to go and…"

Lethe slid down the wall silently, nonchalantly twirling strands of Gallia's lush, green grass around her fingers, snapping them when the pressure built and became too much. Ranulf watched her reactions and continued to speak calmly, allowing her the time to digest the knowledge. He shifted his position and joined her on the ground.

"I see." Lethe turned her gaze to the laguz who roamed the courtyard before them, continuing to destroy the grass beside her in the meanwhile.

"Do you? I would have thought you'd be dismissive of the whole idea. Not gonna chew me out and lecture me?" Ranulf teased her.

"Hmph. I'm not the same as I was three years ago, Ranulf. …I was as ignorant as the beorc, I will admit, though I now know that they were more so, being kept in the dark about the history of our races. I've seen things with my own eyes, taken part in them. I could see why you would see traveling as something important… I still don't understand how you could leave the place you've lived in for so long though. This is your home, is it not?" Lethe's eyes softened slightly.

Ranulf frowned. "Of course it is, Lethe. This is where I grew up—it won't be easy for me to leave this place behind. I've spent most of my life constantly help improve it. But it's fair to say that I've seen enough of it."

"You tire of your own country." Lethe scowled. "That's poor on your part."

"Exactly. Now you see why it's best that I go… I'm completely useless here." Lethe blinked, then scowled some more.

"Master Giffca thinks differently."

"Oh, does he now? Since when has Giffca ever seen my identical way before anyways?" Ranulf grinned slyly at her.

"Point taken, I suppose." Lethe let out a heavy sigh. "…I see that I will not change your mind. Well, I frankly hope you find what you are looking for." Lethe paused, than almost added reluctantly. "I may even want to hear of your tales sometime...if you return."

"Already going on withdrawals of me, Lethe?"

She snorted and stood abruptly, swiping away the torn morning grass that clung to her shorts. "Hardly. You still flatter yourself too much. I can reassure you that I won't be the one missing out; it's my sister and your little posses that will."

Ranulf groaned knowingly. "Ah, Lyre and Kyza, you mean."

"Mm. You better get going before either of them shows up. And also, before I forget what I came here for—" Ranulf watched as Lethe reached into the large knapsack tied to her side, pulling out several rolled up parchments of papers. "—these here are to be delivered to Nevassa, and this one-" Lethe pulled out another letter, much smaller and more delicately folded than the rest- "-is to be delivered to the Greil Mercenaries; that tactician of theirs to be exact. A 'final request' Skrimir asked of me to tell you. I don't see why he couldn't give these to you himself though. I was busy." She sniffed indignantly.

Ranulf scowled confusedly, and reached up to take the papers from her where he sat. He was focused on the heavy parchments, and failed to notice the letter Lethe held out to him. She scowled and tucked it in his front pocket while he was reading. The documents crackled slightly as he flipped through them, skimming the contents briefly. The ink smeared on his fingers, and he wiped them on the grass to rid them of the contents. He sighed frustratingly. "I resigned. He shouldn't be giving this to me. This is Kyza's job now."

"…Skrimir has still yet to accept a replacement for you. So theoretically, you're still working." Lethe crossed her arms.

"And where did you here that from? I just talked to Skrimir a couple hours ago, and he didn't say anything about that. Big guy gave me a pat on the back and told me to have a good time…he never even mentioned Kyza being inefficient."

"There's probably a reason for that. And to answer your question, Lyre told me. She's always involved in all the gossip, as her companions love to tell me." Lethe's expression turned sour.

"Hmm. Well, what'd she hear?"

"Only you would be interested in the rumors, Ranulf." He threw Lethe a small grin at her cheeky comment. "Very well…apparently, Lyre overheard that Skrimir already had somebody else in mind for your position as commander. A beorc, from the description. Supposed to be someone of suppressed talents and abilities, do to his/her current position. And supposedly they're also a mercenary."

"A smart, talented mercenary…huh, I know way too many of those. I'll have to look into this."

"Don't bother. I already did, and I came up with nothing. Apparently it's only someone that Skrimir is 'personally' acquainted with."

"_Personally?"_ Ranulf's jaw went slack for a moment. "Oh-_ho_. Cat's been let out of the bag. A secret lover…heh." He grinned conspiracingly.

"If you say so, Ranulf." Lethe shrugged and started to walk off.

Ranulf groaned and scampered up from his position on the ground in a hurry, holding back a retort. He would need to talk to Skrimir, though his insides knotted at the thought. It would undoubtedly be a long and boring conversation. Though, it could prove to be mildly humorous, with the rumors and whatnot going around… Ranulf was sure either way though that his self-esteem would be in a poor state of affairs by the time he'd manage to actually get away, if he even went, that was. Probably not considering his lack of time, he'd have to miss out if he wanted to reach Melior by nightfall.

Lethe and he walked along Fort Gebal's stone castle paths, their footsteps hushed by the dirt and grit beneath their feet. Other laguz passed them as they walked, and as custom called for, crossed a single arm across their chest and bowed, before resuming and continuing along their way. Lethe returned their gestures, unsmiling.

"You like being a leader of a bunch of hot heads?" She hissed and sidestepped as another male laguz passed her with a slightly irritated expression, and quickly sashayed back to her position at Ranulf's side. Her ears twitched in his direction.

"Ha, they have only taken pride in being part of the beast tribe. It is honorable. And shouldn't I be asking you? You have been a laguz commander much longer than I have." Ranulf grinned at her comment, and stroked his non-stubbly chin proudly.

"True. I'm full of wonderful knowledge. Care to make use of me, m' dear?"

"Hmph. I can handle things on my own."

"Aw, you're no fun. Still stubborn," He gave a heavy sigh.

"I didn't ask for an opinion." Lethe turned on her heels abruptly and continued down the nearby corridor, leading to the east end of the fort where her trainees awaited her. Stone arches seemed to rise above her as she walked, they being covered in a bright mixture of green and colorless vines. Skimpy patches of grass grew along the sides of the walls, stretching towards the dim sunlight above pathetically.

Lethe paused when Ranulf's footsteps didn't reach her ears, and turned to give him an irritated look. "Coming?"

"Nope. It's time for me to leave."

"...I assume you won't be talking with Skrimir then." Lethe turned back around and met Ranulf halfway in the corridor. "Also, don't forget to deliver those letters. You've been awfully forgetful lately." Lethe scowled and flicked the letter she had stuffed in Ranulf's pocket. "Skrimir said it was important."

Ranulf waved her comment off. "Yeah, yeah, that's what he always says." He paused, and then grinned. "Before I leave…aren't you going to give me a goodbye kiss? A last, little something to remember me by?" Lethe's eyes narrowed to slits and she grabbed him by the front of his jerkin, slamming him unexpectedly into the wall.

"What's your problem? Why is everything a joke with you? You're leaving for unknown lands and all you can do is treat this deal as if it's some type of tease! You-you—ugh!" Lethe hissed angrily and jerked her hands back away from Ranulf as if she had been stung, her ears flattened upon the top of her head. She glared at him, seething.

"Lethe, come on! It's my last day here. You can't expect me to be completely serious." Ranulf waved his arms about him in defense.

"Yes. I. Can. The least you could do is show a bit of maturity." Ranulf waved her off and snorted sarcastically. "You're infuriating!" Lethe screeched and clenched her fists at her sides, making Ranulf grin smugly.

"Did you know? You're pretty cute when you're angry." Despite Lethe's angry outburst, Ranulf couldn't quite quell the grin that still shown on his face.

"Stop smiling," Lethe scowled. "Before I claw that smug look off your face, superior or not, I'm feeling rather insulted now. You don't need to make a mockery of me, Ranulf."

Ranulf's eyes merely twinkled at her, and he leaned in close to her face, blowing her an airy kiss. "I'll miss you too darling. But don't worry, I'll always come back for you." Lethe howled and spat in response, giving up and leaving Ranulf alone with his conscience. "I'll bring you back some souvenirs!" He shouted. He fled Fort Gebal as quickly as he could after his teasing - chuckling all the while - avoiding Lethe before she tried to strangle him, as she most certainly would if she could without any qualms, and if she didn't, Skrimir would do worse otherwise with his so-called 'chitchats.'

_I took too much enjoyment out of that… Heh, her reaction was worth it though. Its Lethe's own fault, really. She sets herself up for that kind of treatment…_

Ranulf snapped back to reality, and fingered the letter in his front pocket. He wondered what it was for, as Skrimir had never requested a friendly letter to be delivered before, and much less by Ranulf. He wasn't a paperboy, though he could get the job done just fine. The treaties that were to be delivered to Nevassa and Melior, however, were another case all together.

Of course, he'd have to tell Ike about it though - who would less than likely show any level of degree of annoyance at all - but Ranulf shouldn't have even had to deliver the paperwork in the first place. He already had plans, and even though he had no idea where Ike wanted to travel, he knew for a fact that Daein would not have been a thought out choice. Which was understandable, as it would only bring back thoughts of his father, and less memories he would want to be reminded of. Ike had been through a lot, and had gotten over it certainly with due time, but even then, to go to a reconstructed country and recall that his own father had once lived there—it was more than likely unpleasant, and something that Ranulf couldn't quite fathom.

He hadn't really tried to put too much effort into the thought, though, so perhaps Ike wouldn't mind?

Ranulf let out a sigh, and stood and stretched, holding back tears of exhaustion. It would be nice to see Ike again, but it would be even better if he could get some sleep. Skrimir just loved to run him ragged at work. In fact, it was probably payback for the war…he just always had to have the last laugh.

_I already feel pity for the new commander. Ah, well, they'll survive somehow._

Gracefully, Ranulf shifted into his cat laguz form at a run, light blue fur beginning to sprout along his spine and limber limbs, causing his body to tingle from the exhilaration and thrill of it. His jaw opened and feline teeth lengthened considerably; sharp as daggers. Paws formed where his hands used to be, and claws took the place of nails.

Ranulf dug them into the earth eagerly; pleased when he found a leverage he had been missing in his beorc form. He cherished that feeling; the sense of empowerment that it always brought.

_Aw, I hate this mud. …Skrimir is going to owe me for life for this. He better pay me double when I return…well, IF I return that is…_

He landed on the mud with a soft squelch, and immediately bounded outward with his hind legs, tearing up the ground as he ran. Each paw in front of the other—barely in front of the other before another would take its place. Ranulf paced his breathing; climbing over branches and craggy rocks as he navigated Crimea's thin forests, the sun just starting to set over the horizon. He took in the sight.

Fluffy clouds had moved in as the day progressed, creating shadows over fields and small wetlands. It rained occasionally, and Ranulf was sure it would only get worse. The thought made him move quicker as he roved over the lands towards the capitol of Melior, where he would be rendezvousing with Ike. Hopefully he wouldn't have kept Ike waiting too long. He didn't have the best amount of patience sometimes.

.  
0o0o0o0  
.

"Daein? I don't have a problem with that. Don't have any plans set yet anyway."

"Well, that works out nicely. Skrimir decided he has a treaty that he wants me to deliver over there. Nevassa, to be exact." Ranulf traced the patterns of wood in the table, letting his fingers find them tiredly. He eyed the bread basket next to him, wondering if he even had the energy to snatch a slice, much less chew it.

"Even though he knew you were leaving?" Ike asked confusedly.

"Yep. 'A last and final request,' he claimed, or so Lethe told me. I could hardly say no. Well, not without Giffca or Lethe getting in my face about it…which Lethe did, of course. I wanted to leave on good terms though, you know?" Ranulf sighed and laid his head in his arms, giving in to the quiet that filled Calill's bar and inn the group had decided to inhabit. It paid having good connections with the keepers' daughter; Amy always knew when to put in a good word for him when he needed it most.

"What type of treaty will you be initiating?" Ike asked. Ranulf glanced up in surprise.

"It's the full freedom and equal treatment of all laguz in Daein. As in, zero tolerance of mistreatment on either ends of our races in either of our two countries. Skrimir would have liked to have had it signed earlier, but right after the war was not a good time, especially considering how Nevassa and Fort Nox were both torn and blown to dust, along with the country still being a wreck from the Senate's so-called labor camps." Ranulf shook his head in disgust, the thoughts brought up about Begnion making him ill. "...We received word from Queen Micaiah only several days ago that Daein's new royal court members had been selected for the council, providing support for her decisions. Apparently, making peace with Gallia was one of the first things they suggested, and this proposed treaty came quickly as a result of that."

"Good to know they're making progress." Ike paused, nodding his head in a relaxed manner. "...Daein's still under reconstruction though, right? Isn't it too early to be initiating anything, especially with Daein?"

Ranulf shook his head. "No. The sooner we get this done with, the sooner we can aid them with their reenactment. Micaiah mentioned that she was hoping it would help with Daein's prejudice, also. It may help fade it a bit, if the citizens know what she's agreed to.

"You don't think they'll have objections?" Ranulf stared for a moment in silence. Since when had Ike become so perceptive?

"No," he started hesitantly, "...not with Micaiah. The people are more than likely still infatuated with her, and what she says is basically law."

"Glad she's on our side then," _As opposed to what other side?_ Ranulf wondered silently. "Did she say how she was doing at all?" Ike continued.

Ranulf grinned. "You know, you're awfully inquiring. I'm not sure whether I should be concerned or not." Ike scowled and Ranulf simply smiled broader. "To answer your question, she did not. She actually didn't say much in her letter at all, with it being so brisk and businesslike, only that her country and citizens were doing better than they had been before." Ranulf scratched his ears contemplatingly; they twitched, and Ike watched them in silent amusement, unbeknownst to Ranulf.

"Well, it's good that Daein's finally pulling itself back together. I'd like to see it when it's fully restored." Ike fiddled thoughtfully with the green sleeves of his damp tunic.

"Yeah…" Ranulf trailed off. He had seen Daein before the Mad King's War occasionally on private business trips, but even then it hadn't been much to look at. It was dreary. Dark. Cold. Unwelcoming. Exactly the type of country its past rulers had made it out to be. If Queen Micaiah was as an excellent ruler as the citizens had all claimed her to be though, then without a doubt Daein was getting its priorities straight.

_That would be a good change for the rest of Tellius as well,_ Ranulf hoped.

"Hmm." Ike frowned and tipped back in his chair, looking exhausted. He bit back a yawn and Ranulf snorted at him.

"Late start too?" He hunched over in his seat, placing his chin in his palm and grinning cheerfully.

"Only a bit. The weather definitely slowed us down though. Soren and I got rained on all the way here from the fort. We only arrived here about an hour ago. Would have taken us several days, but we managed to catch a ride in a merchant's caravan. Sore bribed the man." Ranulf's eyes widened in surprise, and he sat up, realization dawning that he still had that letter from Skrimir in his pocket.

"Wait, let me get this straight. Soren's here too?"

"Uh, yeah? Didn't I tell you?" Ike shrugged at Ranulf apologetically, and hid his discomfiture behind a tankard of cold ale.

"No, you didn't."

"…It's been a long day. He caught me snooping around in the kitchen this morning, and insisted—no, _demanded_ that I take him with me. He was determined to come along, and you've witnessed how hard it is to win in any situation with Soren, so I agreed to let him come along…" Ranulf frowned. Did he honestly hear what he thought he just did?

_I believe I smell a little white-lie. What's that about?_

Ranulf's ear twitched; he could tell Ike wasn't telling him everything. He wasn't bothered by the fact, as really everyone had secrets to keep, though it made him wonder about the history between the two beorc. Soren was an interesting character, if not because he was obnoxiously intelligent and had such a strange scent, then the fact that he was so close to Ike. He had secrets that Ranulf had still yet to figure out. He could sense it when he conversed with him though, the discreet looks of hatred and loathing Soren would cast his way. Perhaps Ike was taking part in guarding them? If Ike was willing to lie to him over such a simple matter, than things were on a more personal level than Ranulf had first suspected.

It would essentially be rude to pry, but then again, he was curious…

_Heh, curiosity killed the cat… that phrase is perhaps too fitting for me._

"…retired early tonight. I made him retire, since he was up all last night, apparently waiting for me to sneak out so he could join me. Horrible rainy weather the whole time." Ranulf snapped back to attention.

"It rained? Correction, _it poured, Ike. _My boots were so full of mud and other identifiable objects when I arrived that I had to wake Calill and ask her to dry them with those tomes of hers. She got mad that I woke her at 'such an ungodly hour,' and decided to turn them to ash instead, nearly frying my feet off in the process!" Ranulf dramatically pulled his raunchy barefeet out from underneath him and waggled them in Ike's face, which instantaneously prompted him to draw Ettard up from against his chair as protection. He scowled pointedly.

"I really wanted to smell your feet Ranulf. Thanks for that."

"Oh-ho, lookie here—sarcasm. I guess Lethe was right when she said my feet caused the beorc to do strange things. Feeling the need to curl up in the fetal position, Ikey-poo?"

"Not a chance. Maybe for bed though." Ike grinned good-naturedly and took another swallow out of his mug, relaxing nonetheless, and let his sword drop back to his side. The contents warmed him inside out, and he clenched the tankard comfortably in the palm of his hand. Ranulf stood from the table at which they sat in the inn's public quarters, and walked over to the dying fire. He locked his gaze on it, poked at it half-heartedly, and let out a large yawn as he did so.

"You know what? I'm gonna go hit the hay. Skrimir's a treaty he wants delivered to Elincia by tomorrow afternoon and signed, so I'm going to have to leave early in the morning." Ranulf scratched his chin and pulled off his soldier's cap, shaking his hair out. It stuck up on top of his head in various spots from the rain, making him look much younger than his actual age. "…Do you want to come along? It shouldn't take that long, and I'm sure Elincia would love to visit with you."

"No, I don't think that would be a good idea. I'm sure you're aware that the nobles and I aren't on the best terms with one another. Thanks though. " Ike grinned. "I'm going to retire here pretty quickly too anyways, so I might see you in the morning. If not, where do you want Soren and me to meet you later?" Ike stood and clambered from his seat, stretching his leg muscles slightly.

Upon the mention of Soren, the letter burned in Ranulf's mind once more. He almost face palmed at his stupidity. "Wait—hold that thought. I have a letter from Skrimir for Soren. I'm so tired I'd completely forgotten about it. Can you give it to him for me?"

Ike looked perplexed, and ran his hands through his hair in surprise. "Sure, it's not a problem. What's it for though?" He took the letter from Ranulf's open hand, and flipped it around. He could barely make out Soren's name written out in small, crooked, chicken scratch, though managed to decipher it anyway. Ike had to admit that Skrimir's writing just about mirrored his own.

"Beats me. Probably something regarding Soren's tactical planning—or along those lines. You know what? I can't even think straight right now. I'm so tired I'm falling asleep on my feet here. Don't ask me anything this late at night. In fact, why are we even talking? I'm going to bed. …And as to where to meet, how 'bout Fort Pinell? It's not too far from Melior, and it's an easy day's walk even if you leave here late. In fact, we could probably make it to Delbray if the treaty signing goes well and the weather clears up."

"If that's what you want. No objections here and I doubt Soren really cares either." Ike tucked the letter into his pocket before carrying his plate and empty tankard over to the barkeep on night-duty, who took it with a small uttered gruntand a toothy scowl. Ike simply nodded incomprehensively and strode back over to the wide open furnace, retrieving his somewhat dry boots off the rack that sat in front of it just for the seasonal purpose.

"Ike, I doubt I've ever heard you object to anything." Ranulf gave a laugh and stuffed his cap back on his head, grinning. "Ah, well, goodnight. See you tomorrow afternoon."

"Night."

Ike watched as Ranulf walked tiredly backwards and gave a small, unhurried wave before stumbling up the stairs on the northern side of the room. The torches that lined the stone walls caste Ranulf's shadows all around the corridor making it seem as though darkness was sneaking in to claim him. Ike blinked just to make sure he was wrong.

Sighing, he sunk back into the chair he had previously occupied, propping his feat up on Ranulf's empty one as weariness threatened to claim him. The fire taunted him with its movement, encouraging slumber, all the while strangely reminding him of ink on water, only lit in a color of crimson blazes that regular ink could not begin to compare to. He closed his eyes at the boldness of it, obeying, and breathed through his nose silently, letting the days past events run through his mind.

Almost immediately, his mercenaries came to mind.

He wondered about Mist, if she was searching the woods for him as he stayed hidden in Melior, her head bobbing around the undergrowth in a frustrated painstaking desperation for him that would make her undoubtedly come undone at the seems. Mist would be out all night searching, if Titania or Boyd didn't make her stop to rest. And when she would finally yield, her nights would be sleepless, her thoughts tormented. Boyd would rub her shoulders chivalrously and whisper stupid words in to her ear to calm her, all the while wondering out loud what in the world Ike was thinking as to leave his sister behind, knowing that she would end up falling apart. Titania would chide Boyd for saying such things, and he would argue back, because _really_, Ike was Mist's brother and their commander for the last 4 years—he was obviously not coming back if he was leaving without a word. And then Titania would leave the room, because everything was too much to bear, and the late autumn night breezes would gossip in her ear that he _really wasn't coming back_, to _not_ keep her hopes up, as her already wounded heart could not withstand the loss of another promising man in her life gone. So she would join Mist that night in tears, and both would feebly attempt to take comfort in the horribly written letter, knowing full well that a mere piece of parchment paper couldn't keep promises when they were only a fragment of the words left unspoken—compared to what should have been said—

Elincia came to mind. She was the Queen of Crimea; experienced in dealing with the requirements that her position called for. She had made difficult choices in her lifetime, some of which the consequences had been too much for her to bear, and they had gnawed on her inside out, messing with her kindhearted conscience of what was the lesser of two evil paths to take. Ike hadn't seen Elincia since the end of the war, but undoubtedly she was still being forced to make decisions in life she was uncomfortable with, yet still managing to keep her wits about her. If Ike talked with her, he could get an honest opinion. But there was always the chance that she would give a point of view he didn't want to hear, and try to convince Ike otherwise—

Caineghis came next. He was a wise laguz and an old family friend; would he in Ike's position have approved of his decision to leave his life behind, even aware of the consequences? Ike was sure his father had seen the former Gallian King for advice on several occasions, especially after taking his wife's life, and he himself had even asked for opinions before. The answers were typically helpful, if not solving Ike's problems completely. But unfortunately, King Caineghis was in Gallia, and Ike knew he should solve his own damn problems considering what he had been through.

Lingering on things past was a waste of time anyways; there was nothing he could do to change anything now. Besides, despite the consequences he knew were already occurring, they would soon move on, if not for themselves than rather for the sake of the mercenary company. Mist would be saddened, but even she would have to see the reality of the situation eventually. The Greil Mercenaries well-being came first, and if she as commander was too busy moping about, no one would be making any coin. No income would lead to no supplies, and for eight mouths to feed in the quickly approaching Crimean winter, a lack of supplies were the tell-tale signs of landing yourself in an early grave.

It was a do or die situation, whether they liked it or not. Ike was aware of that, and he had already prepared for it. There was nothing to be done though—and going back was definitely not an option. He wanted to travel—_needed_ to travel, get away for a while. The country didn't need him any more. This was his chance to finally do something different, and he was going forward no matter what.

Ike's brotherly institution took that moment to scowl down at him, unmerciful. He was a failure of a brother. Ike had had his chance to tell his sister—to tell all the mercenaries his decision, and he had passed it up.

_Heh… I wanted to leave without regrets and now it seems that I've already gotten one. I haven't even made it through the first night. Guess that plan didn't work out very well…_

He had already wasted three years of his life planning the death of his father's murderer, and he wasn't going to spend the rest of it worrying about what he did and didn't do for himself or his mercenary company. They knew what to expect of him, and likewise. Self-pity wouldn't ever claim him. He had promised himself that when his father died, and Ike never went back on his promises; they were etched in stone.

Time seemed to drag on, and Ike had to force his eyes open to prevent himself from nodding off, a clear sign that he should have left for bed when he told Ranulf that he would. Soren was probably wondering where he was anyway, undoubtedly calculating a search as to where to look for him if he stayed out much longer than necessary.

Blinking several times, Ike managed to drag his body from the chair and stumble out of the room, heading for the quarters he would be sharing with the archsage for the night. He successfully managed to avoid knocking over any stools or coat racks on his way out of the room, tripping over his own too feet from exhaustion instead. He clambered down the wide hallways as quickly and silently as he could, removing and lighting a torch from the wall and using it as a guiding light, as the remaining torches had long been extinguished for the night.

The hallway was silent for the most part, except for Ike's own heavy footfalls and the occasional snore erupting from within some of the rooms. It reminded him slightly of his mercenary companions after a long days' work, but too closed off to have any real effect on him. It was really undoubtedly from drunken men, finding nothing better to do than to lose their money and exhaustion in the wine and alcohol that Calill offered on days' ends.

Ike paused at a door at the corner of the corridor, squinting in the dark with his dim torch to read the door's number. Number seventeen stared back at him, and Ike relaxed. He doused the torch with a nearby pail, and slipped into the room quietly, closing the door behind him with a creak.

A small candle sat on a table in the corner of the room, more than likely left by Soren so Ike would be able to see when he came in late. It had all but melted completely, and he was left wondering how long ago Soren had lit it for him, waiting –more than likely- impatiently as Ike dealt with his conscience. He was glad Soren hadn't come and talked to him, though he really wouldn't have minded too much. Soren always had interesting views to offer on his predicaments in any case, when he wasn't criticizing him.

He blinked to let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room before he made a beeline for his mattress, eager to sleep. He tossed a furtive glance at Soren and shook his head with a small smile gracing his features, noticing the small lump of a tactician hidden beneath the large bundle of blankets and quilts save for a small streak of hair poking out. Soren always had hated the cold, and it didn't seem to like him that much either. Ike mentally reminded himself to thank Calill and Ranulf later for providing them with the warm material.

Ike hardly managed to remove his headband and boots, and that was only accomplished with bumping his head against the wall several times and all but yanking his own two feet off in the process, extinguishing Soren's candle light with an accidental grunt of breath in annoyance. He all but collapsed afterwards on the mattress, feeling far too tired to do anything but roll onto his stomach, close his eyes, and wait ever diligently for sleep to take him away.

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0o0o0o0  
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The smell of food is what woke Ike in the morning, or so he thought. He knew he could detect the faintest trace of _something _though, and whatever it was smelled very appetizing to his empty stomach. It groaned as if to prove a point, and slowly, Ike stirred, blinking his eyes tiredly.

Sunlight streamed in from the open window, causing blind spots to appear in his vision. While the sun's warmth was welcoming, its brightness was not. Ike groaned loudly and planted his face firmly back into his bedroll. He wasn't moving, appetizing food _be damned._

But there it was again; that wonderful smell, tempting him to crawl out of bed and face the new terror of the day… It suddenly dawned on him.

Sausage. That's what Ike smelled.

He popped open his eyes once more, squinting like an old peasant man as he waited for them to adjust. A rather small, lean black figure greeted him, and Ike frowned.

"Mist?" The person _hmphed_ and a flying object instantaneously made contact with his face.

"Do I look like I randomly developed breasts overnight? Or is it my seemingly flaunting curves that make you think I'm your sister whenever I wake you?"

Ike took a moment to digest this strange greeting, still half asleep, and scrutinized his companion. "…my sister's curvy?"

"And a good morning to you, Ike." Soren gave him a somber but amiable look and walked out of Ike's sights to the other side of the room, his boots clacking softly on the wooden floor. The sound of a pair of curtains sliding open farther destroyed whatever chance of sleep Ike may have gotten, and he immediately took the opportunity to cover his head in despair, fearing the end results as bright sunlight filtered throughout the room. It warmed his body quickly, though Ike would have shut the curtains in a mere heartbeat if he only had the will to drag himself out of bed.

"I'm never letting Calill get us an eastern room again, no matter how cheap," he grumbled.

"Agreed, though it was better than having to sleep in the rain all night. We're going to have to make some money soon though, as the cost was a bit much."

Ike frowned into his sleeping roll, his voice muffled. "How much do we have left?"

"Not much. Barely enough to afford anything at all, and if we need food we will more than likely have to acquire it ourselves if we don't receive mercenary work anytime soon. If we run out of money we won't last long with the coming season."

"Hmm. Well that's wonderful news to wake up to." He ran his hands absentmindedly through his bed-hair and gave a long yawn, cringing when his jaw popped. Ike could almost feel Soren's crimson eyes latch on to him as he blatantly attempted to fall back to sleep. It was difficult not to twitch in response.

Some unseen object connected with the back of his head, and Ike groaned in exasperation. "Stop throwing pillows at me!"

"Then get up and face the day, Ike. If you don't, I'm going to be forced to eat all this food that I just bought. And I won't take any enjoyment out of it either."

Ike instantly rolled out of the comfort of his bed and onto the floor, landing on his hands and toes masterfully, before springing lightly to his feet. He turned and gave Soren a weary look, locking his eyes on the plate of food before him.

"Oh—I did smell sausage. What a treat," Ike said placidly. Soren scowled and drew the plate closer, pulling off one of the delicious pieces of meat with a fork and eating it right before him. Ike paled.

"Am I still asleep, or did you seriously just eat meat willingly?"

"You're awake, and yes, I believe I did. It just reminded mye why I dislike it so much. Though no, you cannot have it. This is your punishment for sleeping in." Soren snatched another piece of sausage off and ate it, wrinkling his nose as he did so and watching Ike's reactions smugly as he smacked his fists together in protest.

"That's completely and utterly unfair. At least take some enjoyment out of it. We don't get food like this very often, not with Oscar working as a palace knight again. Mist still isn't up to par with his skills either." Ike grimaced in remembrance and joined Soren at the table, dragging the chair out and taking a seat across from him where he had a clear view of the bustling city streets below. The sounds of clinging coins and rowdy bargaining deals made with merchants and street vendors floated up from the world beneath him, leaving Ike to wonder what else was currently going on within the confines of Melior.

"Here." Ike turned his head away from the window and startled in surprise as Soren pushed the plate across the table to him. "I apologize. You should eat. You're rather out of it this morning. More than the usual," Soren added, giving Ike a wary look.

"The usual? Do I even want to ask?" Ike tiredly took the plate and promptly began to inhale its contents, more for swallowing than chewing his food. Soren watched and sipped a small mug of cheap wine satisfactorily, supporting himself on the table with his elbows, mentally hoping Ike didn't eat his fork as well as the plate.

"The usual consists of your daily routines. The first thing you do when you wake up is eat—and instead you opted to go back to sleep this morning. You hold food as one of your highest morning priorities, so it was unusual for you. Second of all—you have lines under your eyes, which you rarely ever get. Third—you never whine. Oh—and to add on to the list, your left eye twitched a few moments ago." Soren sipped his at his drink, regarding Ike over the brim of his small tankard. Ike just looked befuddled.

"That's so odd. I've never noticed my eye twitching whenever you mention that it is." Ike frowned, and leaned forward precariously balanced on his forearms. "Is my eye twitching now?"

"N-no." Soren stuttered from the proximity and leaned back in his chair, leaving Ike to frown confusedly once more.

"...That's a good thing, I suppose." Ike's stomach rumbled and he ate another sausage, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. "Well, anyways, to get on with the morning… Ranulf came in late last night, apparently due to Skrimir giving him a last-minute treaty that needs to be delivered."

Soren snorted uncharacteristically. "I shouldn't be surprised," he muttered darkly. "Skrimir can't do anything right, and absolutely fails at battle strategies, though I will admit that he has gotten better... I can only imagine the state of affairs Gallia's political system must be in with Ranulf resigning…"

"Ranulf didn't give me much detail, but I didn't get the impression from him that anything's gone wrong. With Ranulf leaving his position behind though, Skrimir's hastily been looking for a replacement, and apparently he's in a bit of a fix. Ranulf had to stay later than he planned and try to sort things out, which is why he was so late in coming in last night." Soren frowned.

"That still doesn't mean that you had to wait for him. It was well past midnight when he showed up. What he had to say couldn't have waited till morning?" Ike shook his head before Soren even finished speaking.

"No. Ranulf left for the royal palace early this morning, so we wouldn't have had the chance to talk."

"Hmm." Soren said vaguely. He sipped his wine some more and tossed a brief glance out the window, before meeting Ike's eyes with his own. "Where are the treaties to be delivered to?"

"Melior and Nevassa. Ranulf thought he would be done with Elincia by midday, so he suggested meeting us just east of Fort Pinell. I figured from there, we'd just cross the mountains and Riven Bridge and finish planning it out once we're in Daein."

"Sounds like a plan, though we'll certainly want to stock up here in the capitol before we set out. The weather's getting colder faster than even I had expected, and the Marhaut Mountains will be no exception; warm clothes and a good amount of food will be of the essence."

Ike grinned. "Yeah, you don't like the cold too much. You were buried under the blankets last night. I could barely even tell you were there when I walked by." Soren's face slowly turned crimson, and he fiddled with his tankard in agitation.

"My robes take much longer to dry than your clothes, Ike! They were still damp, so of course I was cold," Soren declared indignantly. "…Besides, you would have given them to me anyway. I simply spared you the trouble of doing so."

"True." Ike sighed and cracked his knuckles before standing from the table, stretching. "We should probably get going, though I wouldn't mind staying a bit longer." Ike pushed his chair in and stumbled over to his bed, gathering his small bundle of damp clothing and his bedroll. Something fell from his pocket and Ike froze, trying to place just what it was he had dropped.

Soren glanced over and frowned. "Ike, what was that?" He bent down and picked up the now crumpled piece of paper from the floor, slowly remembering.

"...It's a letter. I had forgotten all about it when I went to bed last night. It's from Skrimir for you; Ranulf asked me to give it to you since he was busy." Soren raised a slender eyebrow in surprise, though took it anyway when Ike offered it, tearing it open hastily with Ike's sausage fork and narrowing his eyes as he read. The parchment crumpled where Soren's fingers clenched it, leaving livid lines. Ike didn't take it as a good sign after a few minutes of quiet.

"Well…what's it say?" Ike finished packing his few items in his satchel, and opted to get dressed then, pulling on his torn headband and yanking on his brown boots hurriedly, giving Soren a concerned look. He adjusted his scabbard accordingly and slid Ragnell onto his back, his muscles tensing with the silence from his companion.

"Soren? You okay?" Ike stepped over to the table in concern, watching as Soren sat stock-straight, and his body shaking silently. "Soren?" Ike shook his companion's shoulders lightly, making Soren snap his head up in surprise.

"Ike, I…" Soren turned back to the table, holding the letter in his hands with an annoyed expression, "…I…can't stand that hot-headed lion! He's a _moron_! He can't honestly expect me to agree to this?" So abruptly, Ike was unsure he even saw anything; the letter caught fire between Soren's narrow fingers, and burned ferocious hues of russet and cobalt until nothing remained of it but a small pile of ash. Ike simply stared, wordlessly turning to Soren for an explanation as he let the cinders fall from his fingertips upon the table.

_What was that about?_

The archsage sighed and took a long drink of his wine, emptying his tankard in one go, looking beyond irritated. He gave Ike _the look _and sighed again, but indulged his friend's curiosity anyway, seeing no need to withhold anything.

"...I've been requested to serve under King Skrimir… as a replacement for Ranulf."

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**(A/N):** Okay, yes, poor Ranulf. He always gets the short straw. He'll have a better day eventually…perhaps. I guess everyone will just have to wait and see what I have in store for him.

Anyways, thanks for reading! If you have the time to leave a review, please do so. Feedback is a great encouragement and tool for improving that I love to look to. Give it some spice if you can. :p


	3. Unexpected Occurences

**Genre: **Adventure/friendship  
**Words: **8,650+  
**Rating**_:_T for teen  
**Main Characters**_:_Ike and Nailah  
**Summary**_:_Post RD. Several months after Ashera's defeat, Ike, Soren, and Ranulf leave for Hatari. Nailah decides she wants to reunite her lost nation with the rest of Tellius, but fate has a different idea in mind.

**(A/N): **Hey there~ I'd like to apologize for the late chapter. I've had a lot of things going on in my life, and working on this had been put on the back burner for a little while, so I'm sorry about that. Also sorry to say that I won't have access to a computer till after spring break (April 6th for me) so the next chapter may be a bit slow coming again. I've started on it, but I've got the flu, and working on it is just horribly exhausting. Same goes with this author note. -.-' Anyways, I hope this is an enjoyable chapter. It was a bit awkward for me to write in some parts, but hopefully that isn't too noticeable. I'm happy to say though that we've got some plot progression in this one! Woo-hoo~

0o0o0o0

Travels of the East –barefootbean  
Chapter II: Unexpected Occurrences

Crimea- Melior/Fort Pinell outskirts  
The year 649, early autumn

0o0o0o0

.

Elincia slowly brought her hands to her slept on hair, carefully using a small silk ribbon to tie a handful of the feisty emerald strands in a delicate knot to at the nape of her neck. With an un-ladylike yawn, she viewed herself in the mirror, taking in the soft, exhausted lines under her eyes, the rumpled sleepwear, how she looked so childlike when she wasn't in her royal attire. While Elincia knew she would have to change later into her royal Crimean garments for proper standing purposes, it was only the early morning, and the complexity of anything more challenging or involved than that of simple hygiene would have to wait.

Elincia blinked and wiped the sleep from her eyes, scowling exhaustedly as the previous days' events ran through her mind. They weren't entirely as pleasant as she wished they had been.

_This is what the citizens deserve to hear. I will not hide the truth from my people, whether the nobles wish it or not. This bigotry must end at some point._

She knew she was making the right decision. The lies that had shaped Tellius's future had been nothing but the beginning of a long chain of corruption in the people for the last one-thousand years, and she'd be damned if she was going to allow it to go on any longer. The nobles had thought it best to simply sweep everything under the rug, put the matter off until a later date, when Crimea was fully restored to its former glory before revealing the truth behind everything to the general public. For a while, Elincia had gone along with it, simply to appease them, but as the days, weeks, and then months began to pass her by, and her citizens' rallying cries for answers increased, she knew she couldn't ignore it anymore. She was merely recommencing the endless cycle, laying out the path for Crimea's destruction.

She had enough of it.

_The truth is part of Crimea's restoration! How can they not see that? This has to be done! I can't keep my people in the dark any longer… I refuse to._

Lightly, Elincia stood from her dresser and pulled on a pair of soft leather shoes before stumbling her way to the far entrance of her royal quarters, dragging her feet on the gray stone beneath her. Her frustration continued to rise from the previous nights' disastrous court meeting debates, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from voicing it to the walls that surrounded her-not that they would ever understand what she was feeling, in any case.

_Lucia would, but she's been occupied at Delbray with Uncle Renning… I shouldn't have to rely on her when I'm upset…_

She grimaced at the tapestries that hung upon the walls, stories being told through the colorful needlework that ranged from tapestry to tapestry; Crimean royals in some and traditions and stories displayed in others. Elincia found herself wondering if one day she would be the one stitched into tapestries, her story being told through the meticulous strands of thread.

_Heh, it would be a huge tapestry. …That is, if nothing was ever withheld. I would hope that that wouldn't ever be the case… _

The fire had long ago died out, and with it the warmth and friendly colors of the room had also gone, leaving nothing but the pouring and pounding rain outside to keep her company- and poor company at that. Elincia shivered as she made her way to the door, reaching out with frozen fingertips to grasp the handle and stumble out into the quiet labyrinth of her castle.

She began her walk down the hallway silently, passing several armed guards and armored palace knights getting ready for their upcoming shifts. They loyally bowed before her, white and blue and silver armor shining, and Elincia acknowledged them with a tired nod, attempting to retain her dignity while in her simple sleeping robes and her hair a wild mess, believing she to be looking as un-queenly as possible to the extreme. It seemed like only yesterday that her citizens had actually agreed with that sentiment, but she knew that time had long come and gone. They displayed nothing but the utmost loyalty now, but Elincia still found herself occasionally wondering what they thought behind those helms, what they saw in her ideals, her quirks, if she had the potential and iron fist to rule or not.

_Hopefully they see what is important, that I want nothing more than what is best for Crimea. Everything I have done has been for them._

She paused when one of them men strode forward from the small group of palace knights in the hallway, his face grinning shrewdly as he walked in her general direction. She tried not to laugh at the knights' perplexed expressions at the man's back as they stumbled over themselves to sneak away, being all but quiet at their endeavors with their Crimean armor clanking noisily. Elincia smiled, her fretfulness abandoned.

_Oh dear, Bastian must be scaring the new recruits again with his speech. I should tell Geoffrey about that…_

"Count Bastian, good morning," she greeted warmly. The curly haired man turned his sights upon her immediately, his mustache turning up by the corners in surprise while he made his way over to her, his royal robes trailing behind him gracefully.

"Ah, the shining Queen wakes from her slumber at last! Joy to those who look upon that lovely face—but wait, those foul, dark lines do show; they quake beneath those heavy lidded eyes. Perhaps Her Majesty should still be quiescent? A cup of tea and then some friendly company to make thee well?" Elincia startled slightly at Bastian's spontaneous proposal, even though she had long ago become familiar with it.

"You know me too well, though I shouldn't be surprised by now. I'll take you up on that offer, since it's still early. ...I should note that you also look sleepless, though frankly, I'm not surprised to hear your silver tongue this early in the morning," Elincia shifted her position, balancing on a single leg to keep her feet from falling asleep.

Bastian frowned. "…It's not without effort, admittedly. After a small meal, you'll have never noticed the difference." She attempted to smile, but it didn't reach her face.

_Bastian…your much too kind to me. I wish I could return the favor… Well, maybe I can…_

She started out slowly. "You know…this…decision…that's been keeping everyone so busy lately, has been…stressful, and I know that it's hard for you—for all of us—to work under these conditions. I got to thinking about it last night, and how much you've been helping me lately with the court officials and Lucia being absent, and what I've wanted to say is, if you wish to take some time off, just to relax and take care of your own business… I wouldn't say a word about your disappearance." Elincia wrapped her arms around herself, feeling embarrassed at her suggestion when Bastian gave her a surprised look.

He stroked his beard for a second, before breaking into a smile. "Ah, Your Majesty, looking out for me so. The praises we sing you shall never be enough. Sadly, I shall have to decline your offer. I am still needed here, whether you believe it or not."

"…Are you sure? It wouldn't be a probl–"

"I'm sure. Giving me these hospitalities anyway would more than likely cause an uproar. …If things were different, I would most graciously accept your terms." Bastian cut her off gently, before silently extending out his arm to her. "For the time being, I suppose we'll have to find another way to survive. I'd say, if we are to chase away these ailments of ours, a trip to the mess hall is in store for us! I'm sure that Oscar has something prepared. He's quite good for being a mercenary, you agree?"

"Quite." Elincia giggled delicately and slipped her arm into her friend's as he led her down the wide corridors of the palace, her bothers forgotten.

.

0o0o0o

.

"No! Kieran, you're holding that knife wrong! Please don't swing it around like that, you're going to stab someone's eye out!" Oscar watched in unmasked terror as Kieran 'attempted' to assist him in his morning cooking for Queen Elincia, his idea of dicing tomatoes for a stew related to the direct action of swinging an axe.

Oscar sat in disheveled silence as the bold, red-headed Crimean palace knight raced from the kitchen to the nearby pantry, coming back with a spatula and a basket of vegetables in his arms and swearing up and down that no vegetable could best Commander Kieran in battle.

_Does he intend to slay them with the spatula? Ohhhh dear, there he goes… He's never going to learn, is he?_

Oscar rubbed his temple and cleared his throat, interrupting Kieran's on going rant about how dastardly and arrogantly squishy tomatoes were. "Kieran, please let me show you how to do this properly. First of all, you don't use a spat—"

"I know how to cook, thank you very much! How do you think I survived three years ago, when those Daein curs threw me in a prison cell? Certainly not be eating their food, I'll tell you that! They're all a bunch of cannibals!" Kieran stomped to the other side of the room, his armored boots clacking against the stone floor. He eyed a bubbling pot of water, and sniffed at suspiciously. Oscar tried not to roll his eyes.

"It's just water, Kieran. You're too paranoid. Shouldn't I be the suspicious one, considering you're here with me? The last time you tried to help, Marcia ended up in bed for two weeks with food poisoning, and even later, she could hardly hold anything down after what you fed her."

"Oh, come on," Kieran started indignantly with a pout, stabbing at another tomato with the handle of his spatula and moving over to the nearby stew pot, "we both know that that was a complete accident. Besides, she had it coming! Call it karma."

Oscar scowled and _hmmed_, unmerciful in even the slightest. "Marcia didn't think so."

"She'd go against me any day of the week if she could. She hates me!" Kieran vented, flabbergasted, into the pot of stew that hung above the old, brick fireplace by a solitary, steel hook. Aromas filtered out as he lifted the lid and stirred it with the spatula, and he automatically inhaled it, instantly trying to deny the fact that Oscar's cooking actually had some serious potential.

"I doubt it. If you two weren't so stubborn about everything, I'm sure you would get along jus—"

"Fine? Is that what you were going to say? Fine? She tried to kill me by strangulation when she recovered. You have a poor memory, rival." Kieran shook his head at Oscar.

"No, your just immune to any problems on your part," Oscar muttered, trudging away to attend the sweetbread he was baking in the nearby furnace. Its aroma was making his mouth water, which he sadly and dutifully ignored.

"What was that?"

Oscar ignored the childish urge to roll his eyes once more. "Nothing, nothing at all."

He disregarded Kieran's eyes boring holes into his back and occupied himself with the abandoned vegetables instead, attempting to chop them accordingly with a knife, but scowling upon realizing it was the one the Kieran had used for his axe-styled way of dicing vegetables, its blade broken. Oscar sighed. Kieran began to talk about something inconsequential by the fireplace, telling tales of his 'valor' and 'honor' as a knight years ago, leading Oscar to believe that the man just loved to hear himself talk. Oscar didn't mind too much, as long as he didn't have to form a response.

Oscar exhaled and resigned himself to staying quiet. Arguing with Kieran was stressful, and he had had enough of that for the past week, with the royal court officials pestering Elincia about his cooking, and how she could hire a mercenary of low social standing and trust him not to kill her in her sleep at night. It was ironic, Oscar believed, that they would fear for her life, when they were the ones who had publicly and forcibly moved to usurp her ruling the year before, going so far as to attempt to hang Lucia.

_They would deny any wrongdoing, of course. They say mercenaries lack morals, but it doesn't seem that they're any better. I wonder how Queen Elincia can deal with it all and still wake up with a smile on her face in the morning…_

It was true, when the Greil Mercenaries had first discovered her, she was an emotional disaster. Her parents brutally murdered by the Mad King Ashnard in front of her eyes, her friends laying down their lives for her, her knowledge on the outside world slim to none—suffice to say, Elincia had come a long ways from what she used to be, having traveled Tellius to save her nation and witnessing just exactly what life was like for those who didn't have it as easy as she did, those who like Oscar, had to fight to survive. Her experiences sobered her up quickly, and as far as he could tell, she had learned from it.

Now with her throne and nation in the process of recovering from the last two wars, Elincia had taken over Crimea as Queen with her loyal retainers at her side to guide her properly, but even with so much accomplished in such a short period of time, Oscar still on the occasion would notice her far away gazes when he saw her, or the way she spoke when they talked, her voice lacking the confidence to do what needed to be done for her country and take action. If she didn't want the nobles taking advantage of her emotions, she had to become stronger.

And_ that_, she was.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Oscar's nightmarish week with the nobles was a result of that streak of boldness Queen Elincia had picked up, from whom exactly he had not the slightest idea—he only hoped that her behavior wouldn't get too far out of control, as even though her new actions in revealing the truth of the past war to the general public was a good thing, if she handled the situation wrong, the tables would turn quickly on her, and her attempts for the betterment of her people would backfire immensely…

"—and then, when I used my supreme skills, I brought down that hideous Daein scum! Allow me to demonstrate on this vegetable here!" Oscar snapped back to reality and attempted to intervene Kieran, only noticing seconds too late what he was about to do.

"Kieran! No, you're going to-! "

There was a loud snap, and Oscar sighed as the sharp end of the knife slammed down on the vegetable and on to the hard, marble counter top beneath it, breaking the metal from the handle instantly with Kieran's profound strength. Oscar sighed again and gave the remaining hilt a tug and removed it from Kieran's hands, laying it on the counter across from him.

"Look, I know you want to help, but—"

"Help you? Are you mad? What are you talking about, rival?" He laughed hysterically.

_Denial._

"Kieran, just shut up and listen." Kieran shut his mouth. "Look, it's not that I don't appreciate it, but you don't know very much about…cooking…and I think it would be…safer…for everyone…if you allowed me to remain in charge of this."

Kieran didn't even look fazed. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Oscar?" Oscar strived not to burst out screaming, _yes!_

"No, no! Not at all! What could possibly make you think that?"

"Then you won't mind if I stay?" Oscar tried not to cringe. Had the man even been listening?

"Um, Kieran—"

"Great! I'll just go back to what I was doing then—"

"Kieran!"

"Whaattt? Can't you see you're interrupting me? This takes extreme concentration, I'll have you know!" Kieran picked up the nearby spatula and waved it around like he did his arms, flinging tomato juices from it all over the kitchen and into Oscar's green hair.

Oscar glared, just on the verge of losing it.

"If you're going to stay, you're going to do what I say. Period. No whining, no qualms. End of story. You're just an accident waiting to happen in here, and I doubt Queen Elincia would appreciate it if you continued to break everything, and I hope—no, I_ know_ she would be more than happy to take it out of your paycheck! Now, let me show yo—" Oscar reached for the spatula.

"I think not! I will never accept charity from anyone, much less my archrival!" Kieran waved the spatula at him wildly once more, his voice verging on fanatical as he stabbed the tomatoes bluntly with a vengeance, finally reaching his own snapping point for the day. "You! You cur! You always intend to best me in everything! Too bad! I shall rule supreme in the culinary arts!" Kieran puffed out his chest indignantly, his green cooking apron looking supremely out of place on his well-defined figure.

_Oscar, calm down! Relax. Breathe in….breath out. Breathe in…breathe out. Repeat… Think of Rolf. Kieran's like Rolf… eh, no he's not._

Oscar sighed and forced himself to walk away from Kieran, tending to the nearby pile of dishes that sat nearby.

_Kieran's just being an idiot… nothing out of the usual. Just go about it calmly. No more snapping. …Heh, and here I was thinking Boyd was the biggest idiot. He'd hate to hear that he has a competitor…_

"Fine; let me rephrase my proposition then: Instead of you thinking about our…erm, _pleasant rivalry,_ be more concerned about how the nobles will take it. If they get poisoned by a bad meal, who do you think they'll blame for it? Think they'll blame me or you? Nope, they'll point fingers at Queen Elincia, since she's the one who gave us the duty. Well, technically, she hired me—so shouldn't you be helping General Geoffrey with training the new recruits?"

Oscar watched as Kieran stopped mid-slice and proceed to stab his new knife into the cutting board. He kept his back turned, and clenched the marble counter in a vice grip, his knuckles turning white. Oscar couldn't tell whether he was furious or not; he could hardly ever tell anything with Kieran—except for the fact that he was an idiot, though while that may be, he was a good soldier.

"…Are you insulting my cooking skills?" Oscar didn't miss the challenge in his voice.

"Nope. I'm just stating it as I see it."

"So you are insulting me."

"Do you think I'm insulting you?"

"I do."

"Well then, I guess if telling the truth is insulting, than that's exactly what I'm doing."

"Oh-ho, you admit to it! Dastard, trying to ruin me still!" Kieran turned away from the counter, his expression of that of a hunter looking for its prey. Oscar's green squinty eyebrows twitched in irritation, and he was sure he was beginning to understand the phrase of 'pulling one's own hair out.' He was longing to do so.

"Um, Kieran—"

"Silence! I shall listen no longer! The only fair way to resolve this conversation is… through a duel! The winner reigns supreme, and shall cook in _whatever_ fashion he so desires! Shall we take this outside then? I certainly wouldn't want to…make a mess of things." Kieran raised a sharp, red eyebrow, already beginning to roll up his sleeves for the fight to come.

Oscar simply scowled and turned to eye the bubbling pot of stew at his side, his previous anger replace with the beginnings of exhaustion. The stew was much more agreeable, he believed, bubbling away. "Really? Do we seriously have to do this now? Its morning and I have to prepare Queen Elincia's breakfast. If you're not going to help, then go do something else. You're Commander Kieran of the Fifth Platoon, under General Geoffrey, and I don't need you here, antagonizing me, out of your own sheer desire for our rivalry, when you could be doing something much more productive. While typically I don't mind and I honestly enjoy your company, I had a really bad night yesterday, and I seriously don—"

A tomato flew towards Oscar's face seemingly out of nowhere, and he only just managed to drop to the ground in time reflexively from years of death-defying experiences kicking in, knowing he successfully dodged it when the sickening sound of a juicy, wasted vegetable splattered something solid and fleshy behind him. Oscar took a moment to process his racing thoughts before he stood from where he crouched on the cold cobblestone floor, glaring at Kieran, who positioned himself in the center of the un-godly large kitchen with a look of horror etched upon his face, his eyes wide as the dinner plates Oscar served to the nobles, staring at something he couldn't quite see.

He turned around to investigate Kieran's new-found interest and jumped, immediately remorseful to see the annoyed face of the loved General Geoffrey of Crimea's Royal Knights, undoubtedly visiting the kitchens just to take Kieran off Oscar's hands -for which he was extremely grateful- and to grab a light breakfast, instead receiving a face full of it instead.

"G-ge-general Geoffrey! I-I can explain myself, sir! Blame this hooligan here!" On queue, Kieran pointed his shaking finger at Oscar, who simply settled for an annoyed eye squinting and sigh in response. The General silenced Kieran with a single look, and began the slow process of removing the splattered tomato from his armor wordlessly.

Geoffrey was a tall man, almost always impeccably dressed in his royal Crimean battle attire, his azure hair short and trimmed as to keep it out of his eyes during battles, dark blue armor shined but scratched, and his Brave Lance strapped to his back no matter the circumstances of where he may be found in the castle. Oddly enough, for once though, Geoffrey was without his usual weapon, and Oscar found himself wondering whether that had just saved Kieran's life from forfeit or not.

Geoffrey rubbed the tomato from his face with a taken a back look, staring in befuddlement at the translucent juices in his hand. Oscar quickly reached for a cloth from the dish covered counter, feeling moronic for not having helped Geoffrey sooner.

"My apologies, sir. Kieran and I got in a bit of an argument, and this is my fault for letting it get out of control. I will take full responsibility for his ac—"

"MY actions? What are you trying to pull, making me out as the instigator? You're the one who accused ME of being unhelpful, you squinty-eyed dast—"

"Enough!" Geoffrey bellowed, his eyes narrowed and a look of exhaustion written on his face. He closed his eyes and leaned against the northern side of the kitchen's wall, Oscar's unhelpful rag dangling from his hands. He sighed, "Look, I know we've all been through a lot these past couple of nights, and I understand, but even then, it does not excuse this kind of childish behavior." Geoffrey gathered the rag in his hands into a small ball, and turned to his sub-ordinate, who trembled. "Kieran, respect Oscar and let him do his duties the way he sees fit. And Oscar, if he bothers you again, please _feel free_ to retrieve me. I don't want this to become a permanent issue with you two. Understood?"

Oscar nodded his head in respect to the younger general, "Yes sir!"

"Good." Geoffrey sighed. "Now that we have that settled, go get yourselves cleaned up and meet me in the mess hall as soon as you can—with some food, if possible. We have a special guest, an old friend with an important treaty, which after last night I'm sure you already know about."

Kieran looked noticeably puzzled, and Oscar smiled, already having a good idea who it was. "Who would travel to the royal palace this early in the morning?" Kieran asked. "It's ungodly! They must be insane."

Geoffrey grinned and tossed the now dirtied rag onto the counter, crossing his armored arms. "Who do you think it is? It's Sir Ranulf, of course."

.

0o0o0o0

.

Ranulf grinned amiably across the table at Queen Elincia, a bread role in his left hand and Crimea's proposed treaty in the other. He had been escorted by General Geoffrey only moments earlier into the mess hall, and got the pleasurable surprise of witnessing the queen in her royal sleepwear. She had jumped from her chair upon his entrance, curtsied in embarrassment, and dashed from the room faster than Ranulf had seen anyone run in a while. Geoffrey and he simply stared after her with confused looks, cluelessly pining as to what would cause her to react in the flustered manner that she had. The two men simply shrugged at one another and sat down at the long, oaken table which filled the majority of the mess hall, making idle chit-chat back and forth between themselves pleasantly.

It didn't take very long before the queen returned, dressed in her royal, silken attire with the golden chaplet placed upon her brow, and took a seat at the head of the table, giving Ranulf a friendly smile. He threw a quick glance around the room, taking in the inhibitors' reactions, unsurprised to notice how their expressions viewed their queen's own; Elincia had a friendly air about her, and certainly her people would mirror their ruler's moods.

Elincia sat across from him at the head of the table, her head currently bent over the paperwork in front of her, assessing it. A couple of Crimean officials stood around her, talking in whispers. Ranulf politely kept his attention focused elsewhere, attempting to ignore the comments of which they spoke, so easy for his laguz ears to hear their every complaint towards the treaty.

"…I do not agree with this. Your Highness, I'm imploring you to reconsi—"

"Hush. We've gone over this already. I've heard your views, and I will not change my decision after everything we've gone through to get where we are now. I'm sorry to hear that you don't agree with this, but I will not stop what is best for Crimea out of your own unhappiness. You will have to accept it as the way it is. Change is coming for the Crimean citizens, and I will see that we all pass through this trial accordingly. I will not deny the truth to them any longer. This will be good for both our countries to carry out." Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, softly spoken, though even then, Ranulf could sense the resolve that stood beneath her sentiments. She was becoming stronger, no longer the naïve woman she had once been, constantly putting matters aside and relying on others for help.

_If only all the nobles were like you, than we'd all be that much better off. You'll go far with Crimea, Elincia; Ike and Nasir were right about you._

Ranulf discreetly eyed the noble that had spoken out against Gallia and Crimea's secret treaty, taking in his appearance. His fancy attire practically screamed wealth in Ranulf's mind, the man dressed in long, white, tumultuous robes, fastened with a single, silver brooch just below his droopy face. His eyes were partly sunken in, little beads of jet black reflecting nothing, it seemed, above a hawk-like nose. The graying hair upon his head had been combed to one side, showing the shiny bald spot that rested just upon his brow, wrinkles beneath that and so on. Ranulf doubted he'd ever physically worked a day in his life—

_These beorc males would be like chickens on a battlefield. They wouldn't last long. _

_Heh, Ashera forbid that aristocrats should ever have to sweat a little… what a bunch of cretins… _Ranulf thought dismally.

"Well said, Your Majesty! I applaud you…a pleasant and inspiring speech." Ranulf tore his sly gaze away from the group of beorc and rolled his eyes, reaching for the glass of water that sat in front of him and taking a much needed swallow.

"We will abide by your decision," another noble spoke up. "You know what is best as our queen. We wholly support your notions and will continue to do so! May fortunes always smile on your endeavors…"

Ranulf choked in disbelief, spitting out his water across the table at the unfortunate General Geoffrey, who regrettably didn't move quite as fast as he should have.

_Since when have you upperclassmen ever supported her? You tried to remove her from the throne just a year ago! And now you're going to lie and say that you're all in _agreement_? You're all disgusting! You're just toying with her! This isn't some game! This is _beyond_ important–_

"Ranulf? Ranulf! Are you all right?" Elincia was peering at him in concern, halfway standing from her chair, prepared to help on a moment's notice.

He waved her away, and hastily took another drink of water to quell his cough. "I-I'm g-good, gre-eat, fabulous... J-just a hairball, Your Majesty; they're rather ticklish, you know? A real pain for us b-beast tribe laguz," Ranulf choked out, cluing in Elincia with a discreet wink. She blinked in surprise, then smiled covertly and returned to her seat, attempting casual converse with several noble officials nearby, who all eyed Ranulf with open disbelief showing on their faces. Ranulf gave a little wave when they looked his way, having fun putting on a show for them. They had no idea that he was insulting them.

_This is blasphemy. It's only fair that they get a bit of it._

Ranulf winked his purple eye at the hawk-eyed noble that had spoke up earlier, and gave him a fake smile. The man snorted and turned his back on him.

…_I love the maturity around here. Ha! __And to think that Lethe complains about _me…_I have nothing on these beorc._

Ranulf shook his head in disbelief and redirected his attention to something more interesting, something to help pass the waiting time more quickly, his eyes landing on the distressed palace knight in front of him. Ranulf raised a skeptical eyebrow at the general's weary appearance, and wordlessly reached for a cloth napkin nearby, offering it to him innocently with a single, bandaged finger.

"…What happened to you?"

.

0o0o0o

.

"I apologize for the long wait. Things were a bit… difficult."

Ranulf glanced up from his seat in the royal gardens of Melior, where he had been sitting since the queen's officials had requested to meet in private with her. He was sure it was merely a way for them to express their distress over their queen's decision, to tell her how much they couldn't support her. While Ranulf would have loved to have stayed and have voiced an opinion of his own, he was sure his presence wouldn't help the situation, and suffice to say, being as far away from them as possible would hopefully have cleared their minds—as well as his own.

Besides, he _liked_ looking at the dead flowers in the pouring rain.

"Don't apologize, I'm fine," Ranulf replied, straightening up from his seat in the small gazebo that he decided to occupy. It wasn't much to look at, though it certainly kept the rain from touching him. "I trust that things went well? They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

Queen Elincia gave him a small laugh and smiled grimly; brushing back a small emerald curl that had slipped from it's usual up do. She looked tired, and took a seat across from him, tucking her legs beneath her. "Far better than what it had once been or I had expected, to say the least. Admittedly, there were a few officials who spoke out, but no objections after I laid my final decision before them. I'm glad to say that the treaty has been signed, and within a week, I will reveal the truth to the public. I trust that Skrimir will be doing so as well?"

Ranulf nodded his head. "Yep."

"Good, otherwise I would have been forced to do it without him. It seems Daein will be the last one to speak publicly about the war's events…"

'…_been forced to do it without him?' That's bold of you…_

Ranulf stared silently for a few moments, contemplating. "…Since when did you develop such a backbone?"

"E-excuse me?" Elincia sputtered, her mouth agape.

_Woops, that came out wrong._

"Wait– don't be insulted. What I meant to say is, I don't thing I've ever seen you so…so… self-assured in your decisions before." Ranulf paused. "…Well of course you had to be strong during the war, but this behavior… you've just surprised me, that's all. It's not a bad thing. In fact, I think it's great." He shrugged nonchalantly, immediately regretting his words; it wasn't his place to judge her.

"I…I am…very glad to hear that." Elincia beamed.

"You are?" Ranulf asked in surprise.

"I am. Nobody's said anything about it—it seems you're the first that's actually said something! Heh!" She giggled and covered her mouth, and Ranulf simply grinned at her.

"What? Do I have stubble on my face?"

"N-no! It's not that! It's- it's just… heh, if you only knew the reason why I act the way I do now, you'd laugh at me!"

"…Really? Now you piqued my interest. Try me."

"Ah, no," The queen shook her head. "I don't want to take up anymore of your ti–"

"I've got plenty," he intervened. "I'm a free man– er, cat, that is. If this was seriously going to interrupt my day I would say something."

"Ah, well, if you really want to hear…"

"Your Majesty, am I not inquiring enough all ready?" Ranulf gave her a grin.

_It's too much fun making her flustered._

Elincia looked taken aback, but nodded her head with a small smile gracing her features. "I-I see. …Well, I shall tell you than. Several months after the war ended… after Ashera's defeat, I received a particular visitor, one I hadn't seen since then… it was completely unexpected, her arrival… the Queen of Hatari."

Ranulf's eyebrows rose involuntarily, unable to feign his surprise. "Queen Nailah? She came to Crimea?"

_I thought she had returned home… she couldn't have stayed here without first having plans. That would be the same as abandoning her position as ruler…_

"More specifically, she came to speak with me," Elincia continued.

"Oh?"

"…She spoke to me about emigrating her people across the Desert of Death. She was wondering if there would be room for her people here, if she had the desire or need to keep the citizens together."

"She's migrating her people?" Ranulf asked incredulously.

_First time I've heard anything about this! I'm surprised that she's never visited Gallia to ask us that… after all, the wolves are part of the beast tribe as well._

"Well, she said that's what she hoped to do. How she could accomplish a feat such as that, I have no idea… it's one thing to rule over a country, but another to have the people voyage to someplace they've never been before, and much less cross the desert!"

_All right, Nailah definitely has something planned if she's going along with this._

"…What did you tell her?" he asked quietly.

"I simply told her that I would see what I could do." Elincia responded firmly, looking out at the royal gardens, her eyes wandering. Ranulf wasn't sure whether she was avoiding his gaze intentionally or not. "…Crimea is still undergoing reconstruction, as well as new laws and officials being discussed at length everyday." Elincia smiled resignedly. "The new treaty that we just signed with you is one we've been debating over for several weeks. It's taken a lot of energy and effort out of everyone around here. As a result, it goes to say that we haven't been as… diligent and up-to-speed, as we usually are. I told Nailah that, and she said it didn't matter. She just wanted a straight answer, I'm assuming, because she left so abruptly afterwards. I was afraid I might have said something to offend her, or perhaps said something she didn't want to hear..." Ranulf shook his head as she finished.

"I highly doubt it. Nailah may be headstrong and a bit… direct at times, though she's incredibly sharp too. I'd say she had already come to a conclusion just upon speaking with you."

Elincia bit her lip, wringing her hands together slightly. "And what do you think that would be?"

Ranulf tapped his fingers on the table in front of him, smiling. "She's looking for your assistance."

.

.

0o0o0o

.

.

Rain poured freely from the sky, clogging the air with sweet and heavy mist. The ground was soft and easily overturned underfoot, mushy from the precipitation that hadn't yielded at all during the daylight hours. Tracks and prints of all kinds stood out in the path that Ike walked, though only one kept him on his toes, and his senses sharp.

Quietly, as to not disturb their followers, Ike snuck as stealthily as possible over the murky grounds to the nearest tree and ducked beneath its low, overhanging branches, tossing a brief glance around the darkening forest for his other companion. When no sign of Soren appeared, he drew Ettard from its sheath on his back, and pressed his body tightly against the tree, reducing his visibility; it wouldn't do him any good to get caught by the bandits before he even made his first move.

_I hate ambushes; they're so dishonorable. Sneaking around behind the trees, lying in wait… I might as well be a bandit myself._

Ike blinked and shoved his blue hair out of his face in annoyance, damp from the rain, keeping his eyes peeled for Soren's signal. He was feeling a bit uneasy, leaving Soren vulnerable for the bandits to attack, and using him to draw them in. While Ike knew Soren was quick and had reasonably good reflexes for an archsage, the feeling wouldn't fade.

There were only two of them as it was, and taking on a group of bandits was just asking for trouble. A mercenary could have all the skill and strength in the world, but even the smallest lapse would invite death. Greil's demise saw proof in that theory, and he was the most resilient man Ike had ever known. In Soren's case, despite his tactical prowess, a single blow from a bandit's axe would be damn near fatal if not kill him immediately.

…_No, his stubbornness would keep him alive._

Splashing recaptured Ike's attention, and he turned his head to the right of the tree just in time to see a disheveled Soren sprinting down the puddle covered road, the loud jesting after him revealing that the bandits were not far behind. Ike stayed put and watched silently, waiting for the appropriate time to make his move.

Soren knew where he was, and would give him a signal when it was time. He would have rather charged in for a straight up fight, but as Soren had adopted as a habit to tell him frequently, his recklessness would get him killed eventually—both of them if he kept at it. Soren was right of course, so Ike attempted to be more agreeable and think before he acted, but even then, there were still plenty of occasions where instinct would take over, and before he would even realize what he was doing, he was out in the midst of battle without a thought fairing for the aftermath.

_Battles end quicker that way,_ Ike thought simply.

Soren stopped only several yards past Ike's position and doubled over his knees, his chest heaving and his wet robes clinging to him. Though while Soren was definitely not skilled in high physical stamina of any kind really, his iron-nerves made up for the endurance he lacked, making him a difficult opponent for anyone. Ike couldn't tell from his position whether Soren was faking his condition for a show or not. He sincerely hoped it the first option. Soren could be a bit dramatic at times when he wanted to.

"Well, well, well. Look at this, boys; little minx is running out of energy," Ike stiffened as the bandits' voices came into range, the splashing and their heavy footsteps all the evidence Ike needed of their identity. The speaker had to be the leader, he was sure.

"Ah-! Sure moved fast for a kid so small!" Another bandit.

"—Boney little thing too," a third bandit cut in, "look at those scrawny arms; won't stand a chance against u—"

"Shut up! Don't forget about the boy's companion; he was a rather strong-looking pup, and he's probably lurking nearby, boys. Better not let y'er guard down unless ya want'a get skinned. Stupid sell-swords like 'im don't abandon their fellow comrades…no matter how apparently useless they are." The bandits chortled in response to their leader, and Ike bit his lip firmly to keep himself from replying with a foul retort, hearing more responses then he had originally thought there would be. There had to be more than ten of them, at the least.

"Useless? I'd think twice about that sentiment. Are you ready to die now?" Soren's calm voice was a relief, and Ike readied himself. He wiped his sweaty fingers dry, slick from feeling so antsy, and raised his blade slightly. It'd be any moment, he was sure.

_Hurry it up, Sor–_

"Look! 'He's reachin' for somethi—_agh, it's a sage! Kill 'im quick_! _Don't let him get a'old th_–"

Ike took that as his queue and launched himself from behind the tree, his blade ready at his side and eyes quickly locking on his enemies.

They didn't even have a chance.

Ettard bit into the back of the closest brawly bandit's neck, cleaving the man's head from his shoulders easily before he could even pick up his axe. Ike used the momentum to follow through with a low blow upon the man to his right with a grunt, faking for a sweep with his blade and tripping him with a foot instead, and stabbed him in the chest quickly, ending the struggle. Blood frothed from the man's lips in small bubbles and Ike looked away from the disturbing sight, setting his eyes in the direction of wind spells and screams of agony; Soren had to be over there.

_Looks like he's managing just fin–_

"Ike! Look out!" He turned to his right in mild surprise and neatly dodged an arrow launched at his face, watching as it embedded itself in the tree's trunk just a mere couple inches from its target.

_Obviously I should be more concerned about myself…_

Ike kept his eye on the archer and cleaved the next arrow shot at him in half quickly before dodging around several more bandits and standing by almost idly as the foolhardy archer brought down his own men.

It was a given that the man was a moron. Ike didn't mind taking advantage of that.

He dodged along the side of the road, making his way to the archer and dodging arrows as nimbly as possible as they were shot towards him with poor accuracy. Before the man could even nock another arrow, Ike jumped and brought Ettard down in an arc, slashing the man in the chest and ending him quickly with a smooth slice of the throat. Before he could even touch the ground he was already dead.

Soren appeared to be doing well, untouched and unscathed and decimating the bandits in greater numbers than Ike was doing, using a wide-range wind spell. With a snap of his arm and a page hastily ripped from his tome, a large wind blade shot forth and several bandits flew backwards and into their allies, causing some of them to impale themselves on their own weapons as they crashed into the undergrowth behind them. Ike hurriedly made his way over to his companion, killing any man that dared cross his path to block him.

"This is the most pathetic bunch of bandits I've ever seen before," Soren greeted Ike as he came close and turned back-to-back against him. He frowned and ripped out another page from his tome, muttering the words under his breath quickly and efficiently, resulting in more bandits being tossed backwards by the wind.

_I agree with you. It's as though they aren't even really trying to survive..._

"They're terrible," Ike replied, decapitating an axe man that came too close for comfort. "There's some power in numbers though," he grunted, swinging his blade as another bandit came back for seconds; he died on the end of Ettard before being slung off into the slow growing pile of corpses, "if they actually utilized it, that is."

"Not if their ranks are as disorganized as this; they might as well be committing suicide." Soren grimaced and ducked nimbly as another archer shot at him, though retaliated adroitly with a highly efficient spell that killed the man instantly, sending his mangled and twisted body crashing into the tree branches behind him.

_Suicidal bandits? That would be a first. They can do all the work for us._

"That's what it feels like though, doesn't it? This is too easy…" Ike turned around cautiously in a circle with Soren, checking the shadows and the corpses for anymore bandits in hiding, and a certain face, frowning when he didn't see it. The battle had progressed much too quickly. "The leader's corpse isn't here," he said quietly.

Soren grimaced and rubbed several speckles of blood from his face, turning to face Ike. "That's what they want us to think. They want us to let down our guard, wait till we're vulnerable. Then they'll strike and finish us off when we least expect it. I know it," he finished disagreeably. Ike frowned and stared at the trunk of the tree closest to him, trying to think their situation through for once.

_It won't come to that. We've already decimated most of them, and there can't be too many more…_

"…They're going to play our own plan against us–"

A war cry echoed all around them, and Ike readied Ettard and his stance for combat, standing back-to-back with Soren.

"For a mercenary, you figured it out faster than I thought! Nicely done! Too bad your victory's short lived! Get 'em boys!"

Ike threw his head up in shock as bandits leapt from the trees around them, their weapons polished and eyes gleaming in the rain as it poured from above. He didn't even have time to raise his blade to defend for the oncoming onslaught before the bandit leader collided with him head on, his axe sinking deep into Ike's unprotected right shoulder; he yelled in pain as Ettard fell uselessly from his fingers and he along with it to the rain soaked ground beneath.

_Damn it! My sword arm! Ah– hell that hurts! Dammit!_

"Ike?" Soren yelled.

"_I'm fine!_" he roared and rolled to his left as the leader pulled out another steel axe from his side and slammed it down where his head had been mere moments before, leaving ruts the length of his forearm in the damp earth. Ike attempted to scramble to his feet, the axe still lodged in his shoulder. He stumbled back and tripped up against the roots of the tree the leader had leapt from, his breath coming out in hisses as warms liquids seeped down his body, something he hadn't witnessed or felt in a while. He gripped his shoulder in pain, wincing as blood surged over his fingers, his nails biting into his skin.

_It feels so heavy… damn it! They knew what we were planning! …Soren was right when he said we shouldn't have taken on this job! There's way too many!_

"…That's a nice accessory you got there; a common one these days for sell-swords like yourself. Mind telling me where I could get one?" Ike couldn't turn around to look, though he didn't need to see to know the bandit leader wore a smug look.

"Come over here, and you can have one too. I don't mind sharing," Ike launched back quickly, his chest heaving from the pain; the bandit leader's smile faded. Ike clenched his teeth and reached for the axe in his shoulder, his body aching to be released from the pain. He could vaguely hear screaming in the background, though he couldn't tell whether it was himself or Soren removing the other bandits from play. He hoped it was the latter.

_Dam– Ah!_

The leader lunged at him once more, and Ike barely managed to scrabble across the roots out of the way, hooking and ripping the axe from his flesh in the process; he let out another ragged yell and fell to the ground once more.

"Ike? IKE!" Soren's panicked voice barely registered in his mind.

"Time to die!" Ike staggered and collapsed, weaponless, out of breath, and running out of options much too quickly. His shoulder was bleeding rapidly, and he was sure _something_ was piercing him in the backsid–

_Ragnell!_

With fumbling fingers, Ike reached around with his good arm, scrambling for the hilt of the ancient blade, thinking, just maybe, if time was on his side–

His head was ripped cleanly from his shoulders faster than he had expected.

.

0o0o0o0

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(A/N): Ah, forgive me for the cliffy. I'm sure you can take a guess at what happened though, yes? *Ahem* Anyways, I hope this was enjoyable to read. This was my first time ever writing a fight scene, and I'm pleased with how it turned out, though I felt like I overdid it a bit… Ah, well. How was the Oscar and Kieran scene? It probably wasn't necessary, but it was fun to write, just because Kieran's such a goof… so yeah… um, review and share some thoughts if you have the time? Feedback is always a pleasure to read. :)


	4. Far Sightings

**Genre: **Adventure/friendship  
**Words: **9,790+  
**Rating**_:_T for teen  
**Main Characters**_:_Ike and Nailah  
**Lame Summary**_:_ Post RD. Several months after Ashera's defeat, Ike, Soren, and Ranulf leave for Hatari. Nailah decides she wants to reunite her lost nation with the rest of Tellius, but fate has a different idea in mind.

**(A/N):** AGH! It's May already… Sorry sorry sorry for the late update… School is beating me up. Specifically my online French class is kidnapping my computer time. But don't worry—the class ends this week, so I should be _fairly free_ after that...

Oh, and a review reply to _Rosepetal_ (or _BlueSkyWing_, was it? Probably should have just replied via pm… XD): Thanks for the review! I'm really glad to hear you like this! I like Micaiah too. I plan for her to be playing a major part in this story, though I'm subject to my muses, so that may change... When I decide to actually get a move on with the plot, and stop writing crappy fillers, she'll pop up right quick… next chapter, to be exact. :) You'll being seeing more of her farther on as well, though some other FE characters will be playing some major parts, too. Thanks again for the review! :)

And while I'm at it—thanks to my other readers and reviewers. I appreciate your support! :) Hope you like this chapter. Personally, I want to bash my head it after reading it… But, I'll let you guys develop your own opinion. Er - Yeah, I'll shut up now... O.O

0o0o0o0

Travels of the East –barefootbean  
Chapter III: Far Sightings

Daein border/Serenes Forest border- er, countryside?  
The year 649, early autumn

0o0o0o0

.

Ike carefully stretched his arm out, wincing slightly when his shoulder muscle's tensed, wracking it with a small jolt of pain. Gently, as to not disturb the tender flesh, he gave a tug on the bandage that bound it, letting it unravel itself into a small pile of cloth at his feet. He scowled at the sight of it.

Infection was having its way with it.

"Wow, that's a shiner. Soren's gonna have a stroke if he sees that," A low whistle echoed in Ike's ear. He looked up in surprise, not expecting company other than the bugs and mosquitoes so early in the morning. The sun hadn't even risen yet, and the only light that Ike bothered to use to see was that of the dying and crackling fire nearby. The laguz had sharp eyes, though he should have known that by then.

"Ranulf," he greeted simply, rolling down his tunic's sleeve quickly to hide the evidence. It was a foolhardy attempt, Ike was aware, though he couldn't bring himself to care. Ranulf wasn't one to pester him anyway.

"Soren's herbs not working?" Ranulf nodded at Ike's shoulder, taking a seat beside his companion and assuming the slouch position, his tail curled up in a fluffy blue bundle on his lap. Ike exhaled a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and idly picked up his worn bandage from the ground, tossing the worthless rag in the fire before him and watching as it caught, his mind wandering.

"…Not as much as they should be." He replied, blinking warily from his late watch. Out of generosity, he had taken the latter, despite his own exhaustion. Soren had objected immediately as soon as he had spoken, telling him to save the chivalry for people who actually needed it. In the end, it was through pure luck that Ike managed to stronghold him into letting him be. Ranulf wasn't much help, between the name calling and stare-downs he warred with Soren, Ike was lucky he received any care at all in the end.

_They're going to have to resolve their problems eventually. This is what I wanted to avoid between them—and now I'm caught in the middle! …I don't see _why_ they can't simply get along after everything we've all been through…_

Ike dryly threw a glance to his far right, checking to see if the archsage's body still breathed within the shadows that covered him; he always found himself checking with Soren, considering how fragile he always looked with his young appearance. Though he knew in truth that Soren was indeed far opposite that, much tougher, older and wiser than he looked, it was simply a habit.

Ike doubted it would ever change, though he never gave it much thought.

Soren's dark hair was illuminated softly by the fire –the strangest shade of moss green he had ever bared witness to in the light– and Ike could see the slow rise and fall of his stiffly folded body within the confines of his robes, the only indication that he was even alive; if it weren't for that last detail, he could have been a corpse with his paleness; an icy, lifeless, corpse.

_A corpse… I've seen too many of those._

…_Damn, I've got to stop this reminiscing… pull yourself together, Ike!_

"Were those bandits using Venin axes?" Ranulf's question snapped Ike back to reality, and he frowned, stiffly shifting the position he was sure he had been sitting in for the last couple hours. His toes felt numb and dull in his boots; the early signs of frostbite, perhaps?

"Venin axes," Ike confirmed simply.

"Yikes. I was wondering why it hadn't been healing properly. We don't have any antitoxins, do we?"

"If we did, I would have used them by now."

"Great… poison, just what you needed. Wonderful," he finished dryly. Ranulf sighed and slunk down the log he sat upon, crossing his legs together and leaning back against it. The dead grass poked at his bare feet –Calill believed he needed to 'man up' and get over the loss of his boots; she told Ike about the ungodly hour he'd woken her–, but he hardly seemed swayed, his heterochromatic eyes wearily watching the darkness around them for something Ike couldn't see.

_That was an awfully enthusiastic reply._

Ike frowned and raised an inquiring eyebrow at his companion, asking his question silently. No reply came, however; he kept himself occupied instead, pulling a small steel knife he kept strapped to his thigh from its sheath, and used it on one of his spare shirts, shredding it into smaller sections of cloth to wind around his wound. While actual gauze would have been much better for the amount of blood that tended to ooze from it, Ike was good at improvising. Especially for himself.

Besides, his wound could have been worse. He was lucky that Ranulf had arrived in the nick of time when he had. He probably saved him his arm—or, technically, more like the remains of it.

It was revolting to look at—even to Ike.

Glaring at an especially tough piece of cloth, Ike used his teeth to get a grip on it, and gave it a solid yank, resulting with a tear—and the remains of a worthless scrap. He scowled and pulled his knife back from its concealment with a sigh, and began the grievous process of sawing at it once more. He felt eyes on him and glanced under his arm, noticing Ranulf's laughing gaze.

"What?" Ike asked, unfazed from the attention.

"Nothing. Nothing at all, Ike." Ranulf smirked.

Ike rolled his eyes, before sobering his features slowly. "…If you've got something on your mind, just come out and say it, would you please?" Ike shook his head, resuming his work beside the fading fire. Ranulf stayed quiet.

His shoulder began to throb after a while, but he pressed on anyways, determined to finish his simple project. Reckless he was, Soren would say. Or too damn stubborn. Or, on the occasional occasion when Soren broadened his vocabulary, bullheaded even came to mind.

_Soren's one to talk about stubbornness…_

"Actually, it is something else." Ike cautiously finished wrapping the final strand of cloth over his shoulder, and tucked the few unneeded ones away in the bag at his feet, brushing away the small clumps of dirt from them idly before glancing in Ranulf's direction.

_Knew it._

"Figured. So, let's hear it." Ranulf gave Ike a bemused look, though his thrashing tail betrayed his true emotions. He tucked his arms behind his head, rearranging his body into a more comfortable position.

"…Did you give Soren that letter like I asked you? You know… the one from Skrimir?"

Ike frowned confusedly, wondering why this would be an issue. "Yeah. I remembered. What about it?"

"No reason." Ranulf shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, than a few seconds later, gave Ike a placid look, staring intently at him, his tail twitching back and forth like a snake. Ike raised an eyebrow once more.

"What? Is that supposed to be a queue for something?"

"…I'm waiting for you to tell me what it said." Ranulf explained patiently, as a mother would to a slow child.

_Oh. That. Why didn't you just say something in the first place then? I'm not a mind-reader like the herons…_

Ike shrugged, and then winced when his shoulder screamed at him. "Nothing really important," he breathed, "I didn't read it, since it was addressed to Soren, and he burned it to a crisp. You'll have to ask him. Skrimir was offering Soren a job or something, but we haven't talked much about it, so I don't really remember." Ike paused, thinking. "He seemed unhappy about it, though."

"Oh– you don't remember. That's cute. Please Ike, don't spare my feelings here. What did the letter say?" Ranulf rolled from his position onto his stomach, holding his chin and balancing carefully with the palms of his hands.

_Cute? What? Weren't I just the one telling _you_ to come out with it?_

Ike gave him a funny look. "You think I'm lying." It wasn't a question. Ike was stating the facts. Ranulf frowned.

_I just told you the truth. It's not that difficult to believe, is it?_

"You only told me half of it. I can tell. Now spit it out!" Ranulf glared irately at him, making Ike's typical scowl arrange itself on his face. He held his hands up in defense, not that it did much to block Ranulf's rage. Since when was Ranulf ever cranky about anything, anyway?

_Why doesn't he just ask Soren? I don't get it._

"All right, but you're not going to like it." Ranulf rolled his eyes, and waved him on to continue. Ike took a breath, having one of his notable gut feelings about Ranulf's reaction, the only reason why he hesitated to speak. "Skrimir was asking Soren to go and work for him in Gallia, at the Royal Palace as his commander and strategist…as a replacement for you, since you were resigning to accompany me. It's from what I understand, anyway."

Ranulf's jaw dropped.

"W-w-_what_?"

_I knew he wouldn't like the truth. He asked and I delivered._

Ike exhaled and scratched the back of his neck tiredly, leaning forward, his arms balanced precariously on his legs in the meanwhile. "If it makes you feel any better, Soren declined. He wasn't interested at taking over your role at all. …He's not like that, you know… Selfish."

_Soren's a big softie deep down_… NOT,_ that he'd ever catch me telling anyone that…_

Ranulf's initial shock began to wear off, and he closed his mouth before any mosquitoes decided to fly in, his tail still and ears flattened slightly. "I-I see… I shouldn't have gotten so worked up anyway. It's just… I've just been a bit tense lately, you know?" He sighed and tossed a nearby stick lazily. "With leaving and all…this is different from what I'm used to. I apologize for making a fuss. I sound like a six-year old," he snorted. Ike nodded in acknowledgement.

_I understand completely…_

Sighing, Ike stood and stretched from where he stood, before maneuvering his way closer to the dying fire and throwing several nearby twigs and pine needles onto hit, trying to revive it. The fire merely hissed at him angrily, spitting out sparks of rage at him for letting it go unattended for so long. Ike stood staring at it silently for a few moments, holding his hands out over the fire for warmth—not that he really needed it. It was reflex. He had long ago adapted to the cold when he'd carried his father's corpse through the pouring rain, his blood like ice veins frozen over his father's breath nothing more than that of a tickle in his ear, distant…

"…You don't have to apologize, Ranulf. I get it…"

Ranulf abruptly gave him a keen, wicked grin, much to Ike's newfound bafflement and suspicion. "Really?" He practically purred the words, hands tucked under his chin charmingly. "Who's the lucky girl? It's about time you found someone! You're going to introduce me someday, right?"

Ike felt himself die a little inside.

_Wait—What?_

He stiffly turned his head, a single eye beginning to twitch, and gave Ranulf a funny look, his expression one of utter confusion. "What the _heck_ are you talking about?"

Ranulf frowned in mild puzzlement, giving Ike his own oblivious expression. "Lethe, of course. What are _you_ talking about?"

.

0o0o0o0

.

Silently, Nailah stalked through the undergrowth of the forest, her wolf feet padding lightly along the forest floor through the pointed and frosted leaves before her. It was the early morning, the sun just beginning to peak along over the surrounding mountains of Serenes, striking gold shine wherever it shone along the treetops and frigid mist not far above. The air was rich with the frozen scent of cedar and crippled brush; a bit too sweet smelling for her sensitive nose—but she wouldn't complain aloud. Nailah opened her jaw wide, taking a large breath, trying to relish it for a single moment, telling herself she'd grow to like it eventually –it'd be a while, if ever– and then began the much illegal –Reyson only wished it were– and pitiful hunt for something worthwhile to call breakfast.

_Breakfast._

Her stomach tightened with hunger, and she breathed a sigh of hot air out her nose, leaping over one of many fallen trees before her in a strong, smooth movement, and landing gracefully on the other side, slightly stirring the twigs and debris around her. She continued her steady walk, her only seeing eye roaming uninterestedly over the surrounding area of trees, bushes, and frozen nettles that lined her path. Everywhere she looked, she saw green, caked with an icy bout of sharp shards of frost, so vivid and brutal to look at it almost hurt her eyes to stare for too long. She silently imagined it were sand instead that she saw; the dunes to the east of the Desert of Death, their reds and oranges and shades of gray in the dark, shadows and grit and fallen, past ancient cities of Hatari in pieces, something so different and much more familiar and soft than the forest that the bird laguz tribes' called home.

It wasn't that she didn't like it, she constantly told herself, it was that she had other places to be, and that bright cankered green was only a grating reminder of where she should have been at the moment, and who she needed to be speaking her goodbyes to currently.

_Ha! And I was only so eager to leave my nation when I had the chance… I have Rafiel to thank for _that…

She froze as something sprinted from the corner of her eyesight, a small blur of brown and white fur through the frost. Her gaze immediately narrowed and snapped towards the small creature, and it froze mid-stride, as if being held by some invisible force of nature. Nailah snarled at it menacingly, and strode closer to its fuzzy body, her belly low to the ground, glaring at the rabbit that lay at her feet, so pathetic looking; she scowled at it with her eyes.

_Too scrawny…_

With a sigh that came out sounding more like a strangled howl, Nailah turned her back and allowed the small morsel of food to escape, knowing she'd regret it as soon as it was out of her range. She did a few moments later, but didn't bother to give chase.

There was larger game that she had more interest in, anyway. Unfortunately, it was hardly the kind she could eat—not that she wanted to. He was hardly appetizing. Actually, he was far from it; too feathery.

_I doubt Rafiel will react well to the news of my departure… ah well. His brother's a bad influence on his behavior. Ike wasn't much help, either._

The lost heron prince of the Serenes Royal Family, survivor of the Serenes Massacre of the year 625, and a dear friend, Rafiel was the sole reason she'd learned of survivors of the Great Flood 800 years ago, and why she'd made the journey across the Desert of Death to see the truth of his words in the first place. If Volug hadn't found him in the desert the day that he happened to be on border patrol duty, her country would still be a Gallian myth, the existence of the wolf tribe a mere story tale, Hatari merely a dead country, and the Goddess's decrees an unknown oath.

Nailah owed him much to say the least, and she intended to make it up to him. Whether he would be accepting or not was another issue all together, though she'd settle any debate easily enough. Rafiel was too polite to argue with her, too soft and gentle, he'd only disagree silently instead with a simple incline of his head and a dip of his paralyzed wings, disconsolate. It wasn't that Rafiel had no backbone to argue; it was simply how he was—how the herons were as a tribe. They were _supposed_ to be lovely and courteous and beautiful and far out of reach of anyone, though Nailah had second thoughts after witnessing the outward ness of his two younger siblings, whom she believed to be unrelated to him when she first witnessed their thriving personalities for herself.

_They're hardly herons; more like geese._

Nailah stepped out of the last remaining patches of forest, and out into the open clearing, her head tilted at an angle to keep the sun's bright reflections out of her eye –she couldn't be concerned about the _other one, _covered with a glossy red silk and strapped with a gold pin from a fine merchant back in Hatari– and her body from being seen by any passer-by laguz. It was unlikely that she'd run across any stranger, but she didn't want to risk it. She wanted to be certain that she would not be seen, especially by _him_ until she chose to reveal herself. Her chances were slim.

Watching from afar for awhile would make it easier, she hoped, for what needed to be done. Nailah was determined to see her plan through, whether he agreed to her decision or not. If she had the option though, to stay with him and bid her time, Nailah may have taken it… but sitting idly by twiddling her thumbs all day was something she could not do.

Really, it wasn't her choice to leave Serenes. It was her duty that required her attention; her duty to her desert nation, to the people of Hatari who she had to return to, after leaving them wondering –more than likely– for months and months on end, without a word or letter or her vassal sent to inform her people of her pursuits for the truth—for all of Tellius, and the blood that had been shed in the process of it... surely her country was wondering when their queen would return, or whether she was even alive to make the journey back.

"_My dear… I wouldn't let you fall in battle. Nor would your people, I'm sure…"_

The first thing that caught her eye were the trees; burned and scorched and gnarled with such twisted branches in a fashion that made her think of corruption –_Goddess Ashera, perhaps_– though she knew that wasn't the case there. It was simply a small patch of land from the lingering affects of the Serenes Massacre; one of many more areas that were still recovering, even with the heron galdrar at work upon day after day after day of mending…

_Ah, reading my heart, are we? I'd rather you didn't._

Nailah strode through the trees casually, the frost off the surrounding brush clinging to her silver laguz fur as she walked, making her glow faintly whenever she stepped into a patch of sunlight. A step here, a short leap there and soon _he_ was in her sights: a crumpled figure at the base of a burnt birch tree, sprawled out on the blessed, frosted ground in the most disorderly fashion she'd seen him in a while. Her first feeling was disclosure, than irritation for being caught sooner than she had wished. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind, out of his reach to sense.

"_My apologies… I've had difficulties controlling my galdrar recently. I was hoping the air would help clear my mind, though I haven't had any such luck yet…"_

His voice in her head was calm and engaging, a gentle melody she'd heard for the last twenty-something years that still made her think of the first day Volug had brought him to her, half dead and suffering from far too many sunburns on his pale heron skin, his voice still just the same as it was now…

_Did you find what you were looking for?_ Nailah asked mentally, knowing he was still listening in on her mind.

A gentle laugh resounded. "_Nothing quite yet. Reyson hasn't had any luck either, and he's done more research than I have."_

Nailah gave a wolfish snort and shifted mid-stride into her beorc form, her graceful movements never ceasing. She spoke aloud, "Have you talked to Sephiran about it? I'm sure that old coot would know somethingat the very least. Or your father may, if he doesn't."

She gazed down at him for a response, waiting a bit impatiently. He always took his time with his answers, always thorough in saying exactly what he wanted to; his only irritating quality, she believed, if he could ever have one. It wasn't much, though; his good qualities far outweighed the bad, and misinterpretations were a rare event with him. On top of that, he was a true heron. Herons were known for their grace and innocence in all matters civil and just, and he lived it up to it.

"Irritating quality? I'm sorry, my dear…" Rafiel's eyes finally opened, forest green eyes looking up at her underneath a flow of flaxen hair. He craned his neck up from the frosted ground beneath him to meet her gaze. "I didn't realiz–"

"If I had a problem, I'd do something about it. You're fine." Nailah's wolf tail swished back and forth systematically, a habit she had when speaking. "Did you ask Sephiran? I don't like the man, though he ought to know something." Her voice held the barest hints of disdain.

"…It's Lehran; No," the musical response finally came.

"Well, there's you solution." Nailah ignored his correction and placed her leathered hand on the tree for balance, allowing herself to drop to the chilly ground beside him with a flop, careful not to make contact with Rafiel's fidgety wings in the meanwhile. No reaction came, and she carefully sprawled out into a more comfortable position, her wolf tail sticking out from beneath her and just brushing the robes of his arm softly.

"I'm not sure speaking to him would be a good idea, love. He's still a bit… _fragile_." Nailah could easily tell that she'd breached a subject he was uncomfortable with when he tensed, and had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something that could provoke him to the man's defense.

_The man's not fragile; he's absolutely mental, you mean._

"He didn't seem so fragile when he tried to kill us all in the Tower of Guidance, now did he?" Nailah turned her head towards her companion, watching his face to see if she'd overstepped her opinion. She'd admit it, she _did_ have a slight grudge, but those reasons were well-founded, and entirely believable.

She couldn't make sense of why Micaiah had decided to heal him in the end, and why after all he had done to the nations, Ike had even tried to convince him to make amends for the wars and deaths he'd caused. Nailah had been shocked as she'd watched the scene unfold before her, shocked that such a wondrous second chance at life was given to him so nonchalantly. If it'd been her, she'd have executed him on the spot if she was given the option; second chances weren't something he'd earned, though Rafiel and everyone else thought otherwise.

Nailah was sure that was the only reason he still lived.

"…He's different now; he hates himself for what he's done. He was insane back then," Rafiel defended.

_And he's not now? He's a cause of concern for all the nations. Forgiveness does not come easily._

Nailah felt the corners of her mouth tug downwards, and she shifted her position slightly, her face turned away so he could not see. She didn't want to argue, though the temptation to do so was almost overwhelming. Nailah took a deep breath to keep her discordant thoughts contained, less he be listening in with his galdrar still.

"'Back then' wasn't so long ago. I won't be forgetting what he did anytime soon, and neither should you."

There were many people that wanted to see him dead in Begnion, after Empress Sanaki had revealed the truth to the general public as soon as the continental war had ended, and Nailah wasn't ashamed to say that she was in agreement. Of course, the blame hadn't been placed on Sephiran alone—no, it was the Senate's actions and civilians prejudice that had ignited the flames of war to escalate to the level of which it had reached, and that was one thing that Nailah was pleased to hear the Apostle speak of when she had; the girl certainly wasn't holding anything back. It seemed the other nations' citizens of Tellius still had yet to hear the truth from their leader's lips about the wars events, and their demands for it had been rising rapidly.

After Nailah had left Gallia's royal palace with Rafiel in tow to return to Serenes, she'd visited Queen Elincia after careful planning, and had wanted to speak with Her Majesty about Hatari's current situation. As soon as she'd mentioned the word 'migration' to the beorc woman in their private conference, her face had lit up in a knowing smile. While Nailah knew it was not her place to be influencing her, the beorc woman was strong, and she highly doubted her mind could be swayed so easily by something as simple as a couple of well-placed words. If Nailah was to emigrate her people as she had let on to the Crimean Queen, then the truth of the war would need to be revealed in order to do so; the history, the lies, the corruption of the Begnion Senate all those years ago—all of it would need to be exposed, laid bare for the world to see.

After all, Hatari was a new country to everyone else, and she only a novel and minor figurehead of little importance to anyone. Nailah would need assistance if she was to ascertain a place in the new era of peace, and she was sure that Queen Elincia was just the woman who would be able to lend her a hand in doing so. And if for some reason she could not—there was always Queen Micaiah. Nailah had thought her situation through proficiently enough to be prepared for just about anything.

"You don't understand… if you could read his heart like we herons could… to be able to see all the sorrows that have crushed him and the people he loved for so long, gone up in smoke during the Serenes Massacre…" Rafiel's voice was quiet, and Nailah's frown only deepened as he continued. "…You'd see that he's changed. He's good now. He's no longer Sephiran, the mad man who caused this destruction on Tellius with the medallion… He's Lehran now, the pacifist and heron king he used to be." Rafiel turned his head slightly and gave Nailah a pleading look, and her brilliant comeback died in her throat. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with a sigh; Reyson was beginning to corrupt his older brother _profusely_.

_Things can't surely be as simply resolved as that. A name means nothing when it can't be backed up by deeds._

"Fine. Believe what you wish. It's your opinion." She leapt lightly to her feet, her tail scattering leaves and debris around in a swirl. Rafiel tilted his head back to look up at her, a small look of surprise illuminated by the flourish of golden tendrils.

"Nailah?"

"Yes?" she responded brusquely.

"…I'm sorry for pushing the matter. That was not my intention."

Nailah frowned and didn't answer, instead offering a callous covered hand out, pulling him to his feet gently. Silently, she began to remove the few leaves and clumps of dirt that clung to his robes, picking out the stubborn pieces with her nails, and brushing the grime from his dysfunctional wings as gently as possible when they came to her attention.

"Is this an apology?" Rafiel gave a small laugh as Nailah pulled several leaves from his hair. "It's really not necess–"

He paused as Nailah continued on, saying not a word, but her actions speaking a million things at once.

She stepped around to his front, straightening his robes and fixing his collar. Slowly, Rafiel glanced down at her, and Nailah froze, her almond hands resting just above his chest as something began to thrum beneath her finger tips. She felt her ears twitch in accordance.

His heart was racing.

Nailah glanced upward, her eyes meeting his own green ones evenly.

_Come, Rafiel. We both knew this would come up eventually. _Nailah allowed a playful smirk to dance across her face, though it did not meet the severity her gaze implied.

Her situation was hardly a laughing matter.

Rafiel's eyes widened for a mere moment in astonishment, before his expression slowly turned impassive, hiding anymore revealing emotions that Nailah could identify; another trait of the herons. She watched his face from the corner of her eye as she continued removing the lint from his robes, habitual for her.

"You're returning to Hatari." His voice was steady and did not shake; she had to give him credit for that, considering the abruptness of her situation.

"Yes," Nailah confirmed.

"I'm coming with you."

Nailah hesitated in her activity momentarily, caught off guard by his unexpected boldness, before resuming her routine with a heated vigor. This time she glanced up, staring him in the eyes with a blaze of unshakable resolve. "Don't even think about it," she warned with a glint in her eye. Rafiel's hands shook slightly from stress, and he gave her a pleading look.

"Nailah, please–"

"_No_. I won't say it again, Rafiel." She felt the muscles in her hands begin to tighten, and cursing under her breath, she positioned them at her sides stiffly before she accidentally yanked a feather out of his wings; he was catching her off guard with every word that came through his pale lips.

_Dammit. I don't _want _to leave you. My duty as queen requires it, however, and we both know I've neglected that obligation for too long now. _

_I have to do this. My nation comes first before my own preferences, no matter how much I may wish to object to it._

Rafiel twitched, and Nailah knew he was in her head again, reading her thoughts with his galdrar. Roughness towards him was something Nailah hardly ever opted to do, but he was being bullheaded, and she'd play every trick card in the book if it kept him safe and out of potentially detrimental positions.

"Your family needs your support here in Serenes. Taking you along with me would be unfair to them, and that's not something I want to do." Rafiel's eyes looked sorrowful.

"You're part of that family. Don't speak like your not." Nailah ignored his last line and continued forth.

"Not in the way they are to you. I am not a blood relative." Rafiel frowned.

"That doesn't make you anything less, dear. If anything, I feel more at ease around you; I know what to expect."

"Did you expect me to place my duties first?"

He didn't reply.

Nailah sighed and tried a different tactic, trying to offer up a positive thought, mending the situation a bit. She'd never expected it to be so difficult to speak so brusquely with him. "I'll be back before you know it."

He took the bait immediately. "For how long will you be gone?" She paused before answering.

"…Weeks, months… It depends on the situation. I may have to stay longer if it's bad."

Home. She wondered if Hatari would be the same as it was when she left, still rugged and untamed; a land full of contrasts compared to the rest of the seven nations. If Ashera's judgment had reached as far as Hatari, than she highly doubted it would ever be the same again. Her people would be in the dark about what had occurred, more than likely overrun by the outlanders to the south in the midst of it all.

_I can't imagine that they're taking it well._

"That's a long time," he said softly. Nailah _hmm_ed in disagreement, and shifted her weight, a small smile forming on her face.

"You won't be alone," She began. Rafiel frowned. "Besides your goose of a brother, Volug will be staying here with you as well." He was shaking his head before she even finished.

"No, he should go with you." It was Nailah's turn to look puzzled. Her wolf tail swayed behind her, catching a few beams of sunlight through the morning's fog and reflecting rays of silver along the frosted ground. She crossed her muscular arms to keep out the chill, the bangles around her arms jingling.

"Why?"

He took several steps towards her, just a breath away from her face. He then gave her a soft, brave smile, eyes luminous. "You'll come back to me all the sooner if you have assistance, my queen."

.  
0o0o0o0  
.

Nailah pulled on her shirt quickly and efficiently, the gold adornments around her neck clinking together as she moved around her room, preparing for her departure. She gave it a sharp yank and the dark silken material slid over her body in a ripple, molding itself to her curves comfortably. She stepped lightly over to the nearby basin of water for washing her face, and gave her appearance a sharp stare.

_They'll hardly recognize me when I return…_

She glanced down at her clothes, frowning at the tears and the stains of Begnion Soldiers' blood that ran along the silken material in an ugly pattern. A slash through the side displayed an ugly scar from an unlucky hit from a halberdier, and the feathered material on her back where she'd been struck by a fire sage. It was hardly suitable for a Hatarian queen to be seen in such a fashion, her people would critique. Did she have no pride? Dignity? What of grace and upbringing?

_I'll buy some new garments before I cross the desert. These should hold up long enough for the journey to Nevassa, at least. I'm sure Micaiah has some type of seamstress that could be put to use before I make the crossing…_

A click resounded behind her, and Nailah turned, her wolf ears twitching towards the noise. She glanced up, meeting the eyes of Volug coming through the open door of their room, a typical frown on his face and a small bag thrown over his shoulder.

"Ah, Volug, there you are. You weren't here this morning. Out hunting?"

He responded with a simple nod in confirmation, his hair shading his eyes as he closed the door with a bare foot. Nailah frowned and gave him a look. "Speak," she ordered. "Keep practicing this tongue. You can't get by on body language alone, even though I may understand it; the others aren't as used to it as myself."

He scowled, his lips pulled down tightly. "…I am… still attempting. It is… very difficult..." Nailah's own lips twitched in amusement as she shuffled around the room, gathering her garments that were strung along in various places to dry from the frosted grass she had lazed about in earlier.

"You're getting better. Just keep working on it." Volug scowled but nodded anyway.

"…Here. Take." Nailah turned her head back around at his voice, glancing at the bag that he held in his hand. He held it out to her, gesturing for her to take it from him. She frowned curiously before abandoning her small chore and walking over halfway, her feet padding against the cold, gray stone beneath her; the fire in the room provided little heat or warmth for her.

"What's in it?" Volug crossed the distance to Nailah and reached a tattooed hand inside, removing it delicately to reveal several fine robes, some of silk; others of a thick durable cloth, one even made of a luminous satin with ranging colors. Nailah immediately knew what they were intended for.

_So that's what he's been up to lately. No wonder I've seen so little of Rafiel… I wonder if he didn't subconsciously know I would be leaving and made these…_

"_New traveling clothes; Reyson supplied them for us this morning._" Volug spoke easily in his ancient tongue and tossed the leather bag to the side carelessly, letting one of the robes unfold from an uplifted hand. He held it up to his body, frowning at the obvious size differences. "_Think you could help me squeeze into these? They're a bit of a tight fit, but with some help…"_

Nailah gave him a dirty look, and he humorously poked a finger through one of the many arrow size holes on her side, pinching her skin teasingly, before she smacked his hand away irately with a grunt. "_Um_… Ouch?"

_Watch it. I'd hate to have to maim my own bodyguard over something so ridiculous..._

Nailah raised an eyebrow, snatching one of the robes from his hand to examine while he shook off his injury, an unsullied grin on his face all the while. "You're being generous today," she remarked dryly, giving a small tug on one of the expertly woven sleeves. It stretched perfectly, and she grinned slightly, all ready turning her back.

"_Part of my charm,_" Volug smirked.

"Yeah? Well keep it to yourself next time." Nailah flicked her tail in his face disapprovingly before giving him a pointed look. "Turn around while I change." Volug complied with a sigh, and turned to face the unappealing far side of the room, his hazel eyes flickering to the window outside, watching the sunbeams lazily with little interest in the weather. A small scented breeze of forest woods floated up through the window, and Nailah felt little goose bumps creep up the back of her arms and legs in response as she stripped.

"_So… You spoke with Rafiel this morning, I heard_." Nailah dropped her gold adornments and burgundy silken robes to the ground, pushing them away lightly with a naked foot.

"Yes. What of it?" Her response was muffled.

"_He knows what you're up to_?"

"Mm, somewhat. You could say that, I suppose."

Volug crossed him arms against his bare chest. "_That's awfully vague_."

Nailah wriggled the new black silk down over her chest, growling as the material yanked on her hair and ears brutally, flattening them momentarily. "I don't recall having asked for your opinion on the matter," she answered.

"_Well, I gave it_."

"Obviously."

The slip came next, a thick cloth of unorthodox colors and patterns, full of weaves of brightly colored threads; maroon, oranges, and thin violets tied together reminded Nailah silently of home, with the dunes and rugged mountains, and farther away to the south, the humid and damp landscape that she resided in moreover with the majority of her people. She wondered if Rafiel hadn't been the person behind the color scheme, and Reyson merely his pupil for the fabricating part. She found it difficult to picture Reyson doing any sort of work that did not involve a good argument or shouting contest; the heron was born for politics with his impassive expressions much more than sewing.

"…_What do you think Hatari will be like when we return? Do you think the Goddess's Judgment affected our nation? Or do you think we will have been spared by her wrath?"_ Nailah froze mid-reach; her hand was paused out and over the next piece of material.

_That's a question I would like to know the answer to as well…_

"I… I do not know. I would hope not, but considering how much damage Ashera caused here, I wouldn't be surprised if the same thing happened to our nation. I most certainly hope it did not, though it's rather unlikely. We'll have enough problems as it is, explaining our lengthy disappearances and dealing with the outlanders that more than likely moved in while we've been away."

"_They'll be the least of our problems. I'll take a unit out and they'll flee like the vermin they are before we even have to do anything_," the sound of a fist colliding with an open palm made Nailah snort. "_Explaining the war will be the difficult part. Do you have anything in mind yet to tell the Elders_?"

Nailah wriggled the silk up her legs, mumbling incoherently as it ran the silver fur of her tail the wrong way, fluffing it so. "A bit, though nothing written in stone. I need to know what I've missed before I risk explaining anything to them. You know how they would react." The sound of feet scuffling came her way, and she turned her head over her shoulder, watching Volug warmly. He looked annoyed.

"_I hate politics_."

Nailah grinned and reached for her leather belt nearby, pulling it around her waist comfortably, and snapping the gold buckle on it with a sweet click of success.

"Mm… Should have told _that_ to the Begnion Senate."

.

0o0o0o0

.

Edward picked up his pace, leading the way down the trail before him quickly and efficiently, pausing now and again to toss a look over his shoulder for his companion, only reassured when he heard the light breathing in his ear, and the belligerent whisper of a, "I'm right behind you," and the firm nudge in his back from a long, curved bow to continue, would he move his feet and bound down the trail, nearly slipping in the mud and the plants that surrounded him each and every time. He'd hear a laugh, and a hand would reach out and slap him on the shoulder before it'd disappear for a while and Edward would stop once more to be sure of his ghostly presence, and the process would repeat itself all over again with another nudge in the back.

It's how it had been going on for most of the day, and he was thoroughly sick of it all. Routines were boring, despite the physical in-shape benefits that some of them provided.

_Ugh… I want to sleeeeeep… Hope Leo can tolerate the floor, because I'M taking the bed when we find an inn…_

They'd been traveling for the majority of the early afternoon, moving towards the southwestern border of Daein at the request of Queen Micaiah, who had written a significant letter earlier that day –something to do with 'detecting' some important company close at hand, Edward had been told by Sothe– and asked if they would be so kind as to make the long walk –horseback would take longer along the roads, especially with the reconstruction– to deliver it to an old friend, who could apparently be of use:

Nolan.

Edward had agreed without a second thought upon the mention of his friend's name, more out of the prospect of getting to see him again rather than the letter's delivery that was the main intent of his even leaving Daein Keep at all. Leonardo volunteered to accompany him –someone had to keep a level head and remember the reason for which they left in the first place, he'd explained– even though he had more pressing matters to attend do, the small break from the claustrophobia of training soldiers day in and day out was too appealing to pass up; being a General was tough business, and Edward was a natural walking-talking-stress reliever to his euphoria.

"Hey, Ed… there's a village up ahead. That isn't Noreh, is it?"

Edward snapped out of his exhausted trance and glanced up and over at his companion, following his gaze to where he looked. He brought his hand up to his face to block the setting sunlight from his eyes, squinting with difficulty at the small settlement not too far away. Small, gray, drab inns and pubs lined the streets, the buildings flowing with little to no activity at all, and the few active civilians' features impossible to discern from his current position. The trees in his vision didn't help much, either.

"Yeah, that's Noreh all right… I think." Edward paused, taking in the damage and destruction of the city from what he could see. "Jeez, it looks even worse than Nevassa. Guess Begnion punched here harder than it did back home, eh?"

Leo nodded, his blonde bangs falling into his eyes. "Yeah… we should mention it to Micaiah when we get back. She would want to know about this, since it hasn't been taken care of yet." Edward watched his companion silently, nodding his head in agreement tiredly.

"Sure thing," he yawned and covered his mouth, blinking away tears of fatigue. "You can tell her, since you're good at all that business and technical stuff…" Edward had to bite back another yawn, this one from boredom. Oh, the desire to sleep was on the verge of overwhelming. He felt as though he were going to topple over any second, his legs slightly shaky from the exertion of running so much of the day, trying to maintain a strict pace, and his eyelids feeling heavy and dull from squinting. He tossed a glance at his companion, who much the same could be said for.

Leonardo didn't look too much better, covered in mud and various scrapes on vulnerable patches of flesh where branches had scratched at his face and hands as he ran. It didn't help that he carried his bow on his back, Edward supposed, an awkward piece of weaponry to be running at high speeds through the forests with that could easily get tangled on any low hanging branches too low. Edward wondered if that's what had been slowing him down most of the day…

"Yeah, I guess… We'll talk about that later though. Right now, we need to focus on finding Nolan. He's probably staying in a cheap inn somewhere—or having a drink." Leo frowned, contemplating, Edward guessed, before turning to his companion with an inquiring facial expression. "Did you bring it? The letter?" Leo's eyebrows rose expectantly on his face, easily overshadowing his cobalt colored eyes.

Edward nodded blearily in an attempt to remember, and locked his hands behind his lower back, stretching the various kinks out meanwhile. "Uh-hunh… Yeah, it's in my back pocket." Edward laughed as Leonardo winced in sync with each crack of his back, his eye twitching erratically. The sniper looked away, still wincing.

"Stop that, would you?" Leo shuddered, his blonde hair shaking slightly as he did so. "Let's go before you break something, please. I don't think I'd be able to carry you very far if you did."

Edward grinned. "Sure. The sooner we arrive, the better." They set off quickly, their destination not far off, and getting closer by the seconds that ticked by.

The closer they neared the village, the louder it got they discovered, though even then, it was not by much. Evening was setting in, and the pubs and inns were filling up with travelers and locals, all in search of a good time and a round of drinks. The stale smell of sweat and alcohol filled his nose profusely, and Edward found himself all ready imagining the various bar fights that would probably go down during the night, and he slowly felt his excitement level rise at the prospect of it considerably as he marched down one of the main streets. Leo glanced over, a frown on his face.

"Hey, contain yourself, would you? Your enthusiasm is beginning to glow over there."

_Pessimist. Cheer up, Leo._

Edward let his eyes flicker over, giving Leo a look. "Relax. I'm just thinking." Leo scowled in disbelief, looking around the streets nervously at the people that walked by, as if they were about to pull something from beneath their garments and wage an attack. The people weren't exactly friendly looking, though that's how most Daein's were.

"You must be doing something more than tha–" He paused, his eyes cast downward at Edward's hand wrapped around firmly on his sword hilt. He stared purposely. "Really, Edward? Really? People are giving us funny looks because of that! We don't need to draw any attention to ourselves right now! Not this type of company, at least!" He practically hissed, watching a drunken man stumble down the same path they walked, his expression wasted and ability to walk obviously impaired from one two many shots that evening. He was eyeing Edward's sword arm with intent, and Leo cautiously stepped in front to block the strange man's view of the weapon. Leo whispered urgently, backing up all the while. "Come on, before you accidentally start something." Edward's expression began to sour.

"Relax, I'm not here to cause trouble. I don't plan on starting anything unless someone else attacks firs—hey, wait! Leo– Oh, _come on_!"

Edward was almost dragged off his feet as Leo snatched him under the arm brusquely, dragging him along with him to the nearest building nearby where no suspicious looking people lurked—or so Edward believed Leo to be thinking. He watched his companion in irritation.

_The man was _drunk_. Even if he _did _attack us, he'd have been easy enough to take! Jeez, Leo's crazy when he's sleep deprived! What the heck was he thinking? He probably just caused a bigger commotion than the one that could have happened, and he chews _me_ out for my decision making skills?_

_Gah… I give up._

He eyed the building with mild curiosity, though nothing more than that. Ugly, gray stones and cheap window pane glass for the third floor apertures made up the building's boring exterior, and an even nastier shade of gray and hideous contrasting curtains made up the reception room, lit poorly with melted candles and oil drenched torches. He wondered if the rooms were cheap enough for Nolan to afford. Edward felt himself slowly losing energy as he investigated the room with his eyes, and he sighed, forcing Leo to detach himself from his arm; slowly the blood began to flow back into it from where he had been squeezing.

"I don't think that was necessary," Edward began slowly, rubbing his wrist tenderly. He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on a few people that sat at the bar table in the next room over, their backs turned to him, obviously tied up more in their own conversation then the ones around them, for which he was silently grateful.

_Really, we're the Dawn Brigade!_ Edward wanted to yell out. _We're respected veterans, not just anyone_ _people are going to mess with!_

"Edward," Leo started, his expression clearly exasperated. "Just because we're well-known doesn't make us invincible. We're just as vulnerable to violence as anyone else—especially you, for some reason." Edward felt himself deteriorate. What was this—Pick on Edward Day?

"Jeez, you really can kill the mood. I wasn't even doing anything but walking around and you started freaking out. Lighten up, would you?" He sighed and reached for the letter in his pocket, pulling it out and shoving it into his companion's lightly-armored chest with little gentleness. "Here, entertain yourself. I'M getting a drink."

"Ed, you can't be serious—you don't ever drink!" Leo's concerned voice only annoyed him further, and Edward ducked his head so his friend couldn't see the anger on his face as he walked past.

"I think this time I have a liable excuse," he almost growled out.

No response came.

Edward grumbled to himself silently as he made his way over to the bar table, an atrocious headache beginning to develop in his head. He weaved his way through several empty tables and a maze of chairs before lightly stopping in front of the slick wooden counter, his head propped up on with an elbow. He waited impatiently for the barkeep to take his order and come around, his mind on Leo's strange behavior all the while.

He had no idea what to make of it. He concluded that sleep deprivation for him was obviously something to be avoided.

Sighing once more, Edward let his face drop on the table with a smack hopelessly. Really, what was he supposed to say when Leo was being so jumpy? Reassurances weren't working, and a lack of trust between them he knew didn't have anything to do with it. Perhaps it really was only fatigue taking its toll…

"Hey, kid. What do you want?" Edward almost jumped, and he glanced up under the hair over his eyes, eying the barkeep over the counter suspiciously. The man didn't look too friendly, with his squinty eyes and overly scruffy beard. Edward swallowed his nervousness.

"A drink," he answered. The barkeep lifted an eyebrow, his expression clearly reading, 'I hate my job.' He frowned. "Something that tastes good though… uh, please, Sir," Edward added on.

_Well, he's a keeper._

The man grunted disapprovingly, staring at something over his shoulder at a commotion at the door. "Six gold, kid."

Edward complied and forked around in his pocket, moving his scabbard around on his waist to reach. He pulled out several coins, and began to glower.

Leo had all the gold…

"Um… would you take silver coins?" The barkeep stared, having returned with a small glass in his hand. He frowned.

"Can't pay, can't drink. _Get out_." Edward sighed pointedly, annoyed by how his evening had been going. The man was hardly even paying attention to him, his attention focused elsewhere.

"Sir, come on! It's just a drink! Look, I'll wash dishes, I'll sweep–"

The man snarled, "I said, get out! Crimeans aren't welcome here, and neither is you mercenary dogs! Leave _now!_" The barkeep slammed the glass down on the counter loudly, shattering it to pieces. Silence filled the room for only a mere moemt before shuffling feet and chairs scraping the floor in louds squeals echoed around the room as people got up and left, tossing angry looks at whoever was close enough to receive them; Edward recieved marjority.

Edward froze, shocked. Why would the man say that to him, when he was obviously dressed in Daein attire? Didn't he know who the Dawn Brigade was? Who Edward was?

_I don't believe this…_

He nearly jumped when a hand found its way to his shoulder, squeezing softly on the soft fabric in reassurance. Leo looked down and met his eyes apologetically, before turning his attention to the back of the room, his eyes weary and drained. "Edward? We've got company… unexpected ones."

_What is it this time?_

He sighed, bracing one hand on the bar stool and the other on his sword, less the company be bandits or the drunken man from earlier. However, the scene that greeted him was truly far from expected as Leo had stated, and Edward could only stare. "Am I seeing things?" he mumbled to Leo, who profusely shook his head.

_"No, I see them too," he whispered._

"_Oh_…"

General Ike's gaze roamed around the room before it finally came to rest on Edward and Leo, his eyes lighting up with recognition as he ignored the barkeep's furious looks at the Crimean. "Hey…" he started out with a smile, walking forward with Nolan and two other companions behind him. "Long time, no see."

Edward _really _wanted that drink right then.

.  
0o0o0o0  
.

(A/N): All right, I'll admit it. I never planned for Edward and Leo to have a part in this, but I thought it'd be an interesting way to display Ike's arrival in Daein. As for the Nailah scenes, I'm extremely proud of those, though they were really difficult to start out with in the beginning. Really, this whole chapter kinda wrote itself. Crazy, eh?

As a side note, I _really_ want to trash the beginning and ending of this chapter, just because it didn't meet my expectations. I make Ranulf sound like a moron, and Ike is reminiscing waaaay too dang much for Ike, and Soren is much more paranoid than I've actually written him. And is it just me, or did the Edward and Leo part sound way different than the rest of my work did (As in, more third person than usual? Crazy OOC? Super choppy writing?)? Maybe I shouldn't be writing at one in the morning anymore…

Ah well. o.o Also, I should probably mention something important, if nobody's caught on yet, but, this story is being based off the COMPLETE endings for RD. As in, Ike fighting the Black Knight (part three, chapter seven, I believe), the Soren and Ike conversation at the end of the game, Ike's memory scene, Sephiran joining Ike to fight Ashera, and last but not least—the truth of Soren's heritage of him being Almedha's true son. Just to say it again, I mean _everything_ is included. I'm not holding anything back, and I'm sorry for not mentioning this sooner… I hope it won't be a problem…

Sorry for that novel of a note; I felt that some things needed to be said. Sometimes I've just got to rant and let loose, you know? :3 Haha, anyways, thanks for reading this enormous chapter! Leave a review if you can, and I'll get back to you on it! :)


	5. Seeing Silver Strands

**Brief Edit: 6/2/2011**

**Genre: **Adventure/friendship  
**Words: **9,000-  
**Rating**_: _T for teen  
**Main Characters**_: _Ike and Nailah  
**Summary**_:_ Post RD. Several months after Ashera's defeat, Ike, Soren, and Ranulf leave for Hatari. Nailah decides she wants to reunite her lost nation with the rest of Tellius, but fate has a different idea in mind.

(A/N): I think this is the turning point in the story for my writing, and my speed of putting up chapters. I really wanted to get this out by the month's end, and it seems I've succeeded (I've actually been so absorbed in writing this that I forgot about my birthday coming up. My mother had to remind me this morning. I found it quite funny. :3). Initially, I struggled with the dialogue and some of the characterizations, but... I think I'm starting to work past that, as well as the crushing everyone with jumbo bouts of detail. Haha. :) ...Truly though, I'm happy with how i'm progressing, and I think as readers you will be too when you get a dose of some plot progression! I really hope it's enjoyable for you all. And thanks again for reading and sticking with me so far. [hey Matt! :] I'm so incredibly happy to see this is being read, you truly have no idea! :) Anyways... happy reading, and good luck for those of you with final exams coming up! Summer's all most here. Yay~

0o0o0o0

Travels of the East –barefootbean  
Chapter IV: Seeing Silver Strands

Daein- Nevassa, Daein Keep  
The year 649, autumn

0o0o0o0

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Micaiah pressed her fingers against the glass, scrunching her nose up slightly and knitting her brows and tugging on the ends of her silver hair as she waited—as she had been waiting since the day began and her vision came, waiting for _them_ to show. It was only a matter of time, she told herself as her day had progressed all but fruitfully and comfortably in the Keep, but as the sun set low over the mountainous horizon for the evening, she found herself wondering how long her close companions could hold time in their hands and warp it inevitably in a way she should have seen coming.

_Relax… Edward's future is always changing. Something must have come up… They'll be here before too long…_

It had been a long day, and Micaiah wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with her head against the thin and frosted glass, herself curled up with a blanket, Sothe's hushed and soothing company beside her, and her own two heavy eyes to take in the sights of the gentle falling snow just inches beyond that transparent piece of casement—unfortunately covered by _the most_ _Goddess awful_ tapestry in an attempt to stop the coil that shuffled through the small cracks during the night, howling down the corridors and leaving a trail of spidery frost in it's wake and over half the royal guard chilled to the bone and fingers –toes, ears, noses– frozen numb by morning.

She didn't allow herself to ever linger too long on the subject, and never complained out loud. Daein was a harsh country, and only so much could be done at once to help change that. She couldn't bring herself to say that their attempts for preventing the weather's effects were quite inefficient, however preventative the guards thought them to be. Sometimes things were better left unspoken. Better to let people believe they were doing well, as long as no harm befell as a result of that luxury.

Suffice to say, however, there were quite a few things she wanted, but regrettably, Micaiah knew rest and sleep were not one of them. It hadn't been since the start of the day –or was it week, last month? beginning of her reign?– and certainly in the upcoming minutes, Pelleas or another Lord or Duke or some royal noble would come-a-calling for _something_, and she'd be off again and put to work, filling in a position and taking on a hardship she hardly believed she'd ever be ready for, even after everything she had all ready faced, this, _this_, could not compare on the same level. It was a battle without weapons, fought with words and wit, and easily misinterpreted to do more harm than good, cause more reasons for anger than happiness, and wear Micaiah down to the point where she actually felt as though the years of being a Branded were finally catching up to her—she was finally maturing. She did not know whether to feel relief for that fact, or whether she wanted to weep.

Daein had never had a ruling Queen in all its history and time as an established country.

Naturally, most of the Royal Daein Family consisted of men, and as such, warriors and victors of the battlefield—a place where they believed women should not lurk, should not wear the armor of a proud soldier, and above all things, should not fight a mans' war with mans' strengths and mans' brutality.

Women were merely side displays—beauties of soft fair skin and full crimson lips to stand on the sidelines while noble ruling husbands would take rein of the country, their masculinity and strength the symbol of a strong leader while women themselves were merely tools for children and on the occasion, perhaps, intriguing but frivolous gossip.

Micaiah had all ready had several run-ins with some of the royal nobles who clung to their old-fashioned beliefs, and quite a few stuffy court members, trying to tell her how a woman should rule a country—how a woman should act—how she should have married to Pelleas and not Sothe, _what a rogue, a thief_, they spat, and _oh_, _how dare she accept the throne he resigned to her? Clearly he was being foolish, and did not know what he was doing– And how could she believe that her war experience granted her such a place—a woman? Ha! Please… A title could grant her peerage, but never the nerve nor backbone to be as strong as a member of the royal family could ever be! She was not ready to rule without those qualities. A beorc woman would never be, too soft for the tides of these times, _they said, majority of faces disapproving, and only a few somber and unsure expressions of the others speaking dared showed themselves to Micaiah.

Tension had run throughout the court room for weeks afterwards, and she still heard the words ringing in her ears with every move or declaration to the people –_her_ people– that she made. It made her want to howl, though there were other things that kept her moving, kept her distracted, and there was no time to be spent weeping pitiful tears. Especially tears on something she knew to be so wrong, to know the truth behind the matter –_she_ fought the goddess, _she_ felt the sting and abhorrence of being struck by such order– and that what she knew to be factual, and them merely inconceivable of such things as a woman fighting for the things she held dearest to her.

Sothe and Pelleas were both prompt to have the outspoken court members removed the evening of her encounter—much to her disapproval as a way to resolve the issue... Pelleas's mother, Almedha, certainly had words to add and scorn her son with–

_I must have been insane when I accepted Pelleas's proposal… Sothe must have thought so. It was bad enough when I took over as the General of the Daein army… but this? I should have known what I was getting myself into from the beginning…_

…_No, no regretting what's done. There's no going back from here… After all, this was what I wanted. _I_ wanted to help the people,_ I_ accepted the duty as Queen—_I_ gave my consent to do what was necessary. If anything, I should be happy that I can do this for them, at least… and Sothe, too._

_Nothing I can do will ever be able to repay them for their kindness._

Micaiah shivered slightly against the cold stone wall, hugging her knees and wrapping her slender arms tightly around them, still waiting and thinking and waiting some more. Breezes roared outside and used their claws to reach through the hoary drapery, and Micaiah lowered her head to retain what little body heat she could. She imagined herself being bedridden for days with a cold and holed up in her dank chambers, Sothe griping at her for her brief moments of altruism—or rather, idiocy, and Edward and Leo coming to visit while inside her chest rattled and shook and her mind tumbled with thoughts of abandoning her station for even mere seconds—and the chaos that would likely result–

She took a breath to steady her rapid heart, arms tightening deftly as she forced herself to think of some thing else.

_Ah… I shouldn't be so belligerent with myself. This is what Pelleas wanted, and this is the least I can do to repay him._

Aiding the Daein citizens in their recovery and keeping Sothe safe and alive was all that had mattered months—no, years ago? she could hardly tell anymore—but fate was jumpy, and while Micaiah could have been content for the rest of her life with Ashera's defeat and herself and her companions alive and well, others were not—and so Pelleas's duty had fallen to her shoulders upon his resignation and admittance of his lack of royal blood –_Fortune Teller, Sister, General_,_ Priestess, Queen_– to restore the balance in the decrypted country, and she hardly felt up to the task all the while it was so bewilderingly overwhelming and demanding and saddening—and… wearing, too…

She wasn't sure the country would be able to keep on going if she so much stopped for one moment, stopped to take a breath and order her thoughts, everything was so _fragile_…

Public speeches had gone on during the morning, advocating rights and governmental positions to the court nobles who helped her rule; the injured and sick had visited her, asking in their desolate tones, "_please help her, so sick and only a child–_," and they quickly found their loved ones brought back from the brink of death—and Micaiah herself one step closer to it; private meetings with a Begnion inspector sent by the Apost—sister, only for her to find out it was more of a family matter than a political matter, and as much as it bothered to her to delay a reply, Micaiah sent him back home empty handed and with little company besides the confines of his own mind and the pitter-pats of his feet on the Daein highways; tearing down laws and suggestions of laguz hunting in the later afternoon, pointless queries and frosty insults and chilling the court room to ice while she sat up high in her throne, mediating—and never feeling so detested for her beliefs as she did just then.

It was then that she questioned herself—and doubt grasped her hand and led her about like a mother would an infant.

With all the activities going on, she'd hardly seen Sothe at all, and the exhaustion was slowly eating away at her. She could recall quite clearly several unfortunate times when the days had overwhelmed her… She'd slumped from fatigue in the throne room during a meeting once, her head cracking against the solid stone floor hard enough to give her a concussion, and the franticness with which the palace guards' busied themselves upon this event lingered; it was an emotion she hadn't witnessed since the goddess's end. It was a humiliating moment she could have honestly done better to have avoided that delayed the business for the night—and as such, sleep came earlier than usual.

She'd retired to her chambers early that night, and it wasn't long until Sothe joined her, and he asked her with his warm eyes and calm voice as he did every night since they'd become rulers, an unspoken question of trouble that he used to ask when they lived in the alleys, when she shivered in her cot with guilt over any simple matter she failed, when he was still far too young to know the feelings that ran through her Branded mind every night as she watched him breathe so evenly beside her, still unscathed from the world's untold horrors and the story of hers, and when he'd caught her gloveless in dawn's light and her silver hair wafting and her blooming brand exposed for him to see,

"_Tell me, Micaiah?" _

And she did_. _

"…_Your selflessness is a danger to yourself. Promise me, try to be selfish every once in a while, okay? If not for yourself, than do it for me—for Nolan and Edward and Leo, too. Never forget that Daein's not the only thing that would suffer if you left. I would, too." _

She hadn't faltered to promise. But even than… She didn't believe it would ever be enough.

_If I could bring back the dead, the prisoners of war and the family members that were lost in these bloody wars, than perhaps it would be… but even then, the memories would still linger on… I can't ever account for those. I doubt even Yune ever could… _

_It's only fair that I try to amend for those who can't. _

_I have to do this…_

Micaiah sighed and rubbed at her eyes, stifling the yawn that tried to escape. She forced herself to move and unbound her arms tiredly, pulling herself into an upright position upon the cold gray stone ledge of which she sat; no pillows or cushions or anything of the sort to make the stay comfortable, though, however, it was hardly something Daein could afford anyway with all the gold that had been spent recently on repairs to Nevassa and other, smaller, towns. The people were grateful, and it was honestly no different than her previous living conditions in the slums… maybe a bit safer… but that wasn't saying much.

A slight shift of position caused her silver mane of hair to stir and goose bumps to rise in little pinpricks along the back of her calves, and she shivered lightly, realizing that the night had come too soon with a swift peek out the covered pane, and there was still no sign of Edward; the palace guards would have alerted her upon his and Leonardo's arrival without hesitation.

Micaiah wasn't quite sure whether to keep waiting or not. She debated silently, sifting through thoughts over in her head, mulling and wondering and pondering all the while.

More time passed.

Still no sign of her companions.

Micaiah sighed, leaning back against the stone ledge to brace herself upon it and rewrapped her arms around her legs exhaustedly; her skin felt frozen to the touch. …How long has she been waiting again?

_I'm going to be frozen to death before they show up at this rate. _She rubbed her arms ferociously.

"Wouldn't it have been wiser to have waited by the fire? I thought you were typically smarter than this," a voice murmured from behind her.

_What?_

She nearly jumped in shock as wiry, solid arms embraced her from where she was sitting and snaked around her waist languorously, silent laughter entering her ear as little cloud puffs in the bitter air as she struggled slightly to get a look at her assailant. "Blast, you're_ freezing Micaiah!_" The arms tightened considerably and a thick cloak swiftly covered her exposed skin, and she relaxed as soon as a shoddy strand of olive hair dangled in front of her vision, quickly followed by a golden ochre pair of amused eyes. Her heart leapt and she swallowed, struggling to find words.

"Sothe!" She tried to smile, but her cheeks were frozen and no such movement was allowed less than a slight twitch of her lips. "You're back early!" He gave her an odd look, one of mirth or unease she found difficult deciphering. She guessed it to be something else all together.

It was answered quickly. "We have guests," he stated casually, placing his chin on her shoulder. "Nice guests—for once." Micaiah jolted lightly.

_How could I have forgotten that he'd return early? ...Of course, he was here this morning..._

She cleared her throat softly, shifting beneath her limited confinement. "Opposed to the usual or the unexpected?"

"…A fair share of both. I'd say Commander Ike being the unexpected. Though I'm pretty sure you all ready know who I'm talking about…" His voice sounded almost artificial to her ears. She hardly even noticed what he'd spoken about, her senses too occupied in taking in the warmth that seeped into her back.

He took her hands in his calloused ones without meeting her gaze and tenderly began rubbing soothing circles into the muscles with a strong thumb; she hadn't even realized she'd been shaking—from the day's exertion? "They're waiting for you—in the throne room. I asked Pelleas to keep them entertained while I came and found you."

The thought of Pelleas trying to entertain anyone snapped her out of her state of weariness and into a preliminary stage of horror. "…You left him… _alone_?" Sothe processed her fear hastily after her wild look.

"What? No! Not completely! I've got Nolan keeping a close eye on him, so he should be fine. Besides, Lady Almedha's lurking about, so she'll be watching him too—and his social awkwardness…"

"Oh." She felt temporarily embarrassed for asking. "…I should go and see them, shouldn't I? That—that would be the proper thing for a Queen to do…"

_Proper, though not what either of us wants isn't it? Though you'll never say it aloud, will you, Sothe?_

"I think they can wait… for a little while, at least." He gave her a brief once-over, and she could have sworn she saw his eyes flash with some sort of alarm. "…You look absolutely dreadful," he concluded, brows pinched, as if searching for the answer in her face. She hoped the day's events didn't show too much. It wouldn't do any good to worry Sothe anymore about her well-being than he did as it was.

He'd develop gray hairs soon enough...

"And staying here will lead to an improvement? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"Maybe, depends on your cooperation." His arms around her frame pulled her a tad closer.

"And what if I don't wish to cooperate?" She imagined little girls giggling in her head, childish as the scene was; it felt appropriately accurate in her current position. They slowly disappeared and Sothe's quiet breathing filled her ears, his breath warm and welcoming.

"I think you'll find the terms agreeable. I'm not asking for much." The utter sincerity behind his words made her pause, and she glanced up, meeting his eyes. He frowned, and she didn't bother to wait for the lecture to come for once, not wanting to hear what she would when she knew she was in the wrong. She sighed tiredly and allowed her lids to fall to a close, pressing her face into his chest firmly and not moving from her position.

Sothe jumped slightly. "Micaiah?"

"…Are the guards out of range?"

Sothe turned his head and leaned out slightly, his ochre eyes meeting hers first before peering around the corners she couldn't see, tan neck stretched and taut out and over an oversize winter scarf. He whipped his head back fairly quickly after scanning the multiple corridors, all of them derelict and empty, save for the mice and rats scurrying through the stone palace walls and up the drapery and over the paintings of the original royal family, before the blood pact had sent nearly them all to their unruly deaths.

"They won't be able to hear us." Micaiah swallowed and bobbed her head, though the movement felt stiff and awkward. Her head ached and she took a breath of his familiarity to steady herself, clenching his worn shirt in her hands—stained with mud and smelling of sweat and earth of a hard day's work. It reminded her of the alleys, of a shed with too many leaks and too many broken windows and a scrawny green haired boy who always insisted on sleeping by the door, keeping guard with a small knife should thieves come in the night to steal away what was most precious to him... Home…

_Sothe… I'm sorry that you all ways have to ask and I never tell… You're truly the selfless one, and you don't even see it…_

The words were coming, the ones that scared away her doubt.

She waited patiently for them, because when rushed they always turned to become something else, and in this way, they came to her aid and grounded her to the earth beneath her when she felt as though she could have been blow away by a single uttered breath in a moment, an unexpected gust of air, a whisper–

"Sothe…?"

"…_Tell me, Micaiah_?" he whispered.

And she did not hesitate.

.

0o0o0o

.

"_This way. We should find her shortly_."

Daein was obsolete; the rules that governed it, lack of discipline, rudimentary bigotry of the 'lesser female sexes', the routines that he bore witness to of treatment by the citizens towards Crimeans in particular_, such barbarians_—he didn't need to witness the hollowed and terrified faces of children or hear the wet sobbing in the alleys or undergo the dulling frostbite at his finger tips to conclude that it was destitution.

He'd come the conclusion four years previous.

Soren eyed the soldiers before him with silent vigilance; two young and annoyingly capable veterans and a quiet middle-age man escort them through Daein Keep, their body's tense and movements blatantly stiff and cautious—the 'Dawn Brigade.' They passed through intersecting grand halls, passing guards standing watch along the sides of corridors, torches in hand, lips and gloveless fingers turning blue from the Daein chill—though they still held their lances proficiently, if not laboriously. It made Soren wonder whether there was something they were expecting, or simply put, they were mirroring his own suspicious actions. Intimidation and unvoiced oppression through their eyes beneath their helms, fatigue engraved in the scars that lined their faces—highly skilled and zealous soldiers it came down to in a nutshell, trained and ready to kill on the fly if the situation so demanded it.

More worshippers of the Maiden of Dawn, without a doubt, he could conclude. What else would they be?

Soren sized them up in his mind, gingerly fingering the knife that he kept hidden away beneath the confines of his garbs restlessly—it's curved steel blade and ugly stains reciprocating its integral uses. He'd used it plenty of times before, felt the weight of it in the palm of his slick hand, felt the blood on his fingertips as an enemy would collapse at his feet, chocking and spitting and hacking bitter words at him as they drew their last breaths of life like a squall of kittens mewling for their _mother_—

He unequivocally believed it would not be the last he'd be forced to turn to it.

There were no limitations to the inexperienced for the degeneracy in the cases of politics—and any exceptions were merely hoaxes and dense people anyway, blinded by ignorance and greed and believing in that which was the inexistent and make-believe. Eventually poverty would strike them down—and then they'd come crawling by the dozens, teeth bared and no longer as tame as they had once been. Instincts subjugated in the end, their implements of destruction always rose prominently for a final comeback—and Soren would strike them down to the ground without so much as a castaway glance of pity—undeserving they were of his feelings for following such a blind faith. They merely carved their own deaths; he believed it was fitting.

Pity was an emotion of uncertainty, and doubt did not come so easily for him when the facts were laid so openly; there was no room for it. Doubt was what got people killed, and he had no intention of embracing death at his age. He'd dealt with it a long time ago—or perhaps, several months was only a short time frame for himself…

"_Sir… Queen? King Sothe? ...What of their current…?"_

"_Er…Occupied…"_

He hardly felt too unfamiliar with the feeling as he passed through the corridors, another room, and another large stone door with intricate designs symbolizing the Daein Royal Family—he'd begun familiarizing with the concept as a young child, and as an adult, developed his theory to its full hazardous potential. He could greet it as an acquaintance, a colleague with whom, perhaps, he was intimate—though really, an old friend whom he did not care to acknowledge whenever they decided to surface at the most inadequate times he could scarcely call friend. _Foe_ nowadays was much more fitting. Though the feeling of being ready for any malevolence that could lurk just behind his back, in a stray whisper to his ear, in the face of a predator, ready to make the final move and send his world tumbling, tumbling down—ah, he knew about _those_. _Those _feelings. Those were the ones that lingered with him the most, that left him awake at night chilled to the core and wondering why things had turned out the way they had when he'd initially had nothing to start with in life.

He didn't believe in luck, though fate was not a probable option either.

"_Ah… guests have… Hero and one of the subhu—l-laguz…"_

"_Oh! A moment than…"_

As a child, his future was all ready set in stone, his fate laid exposed before him the moment he'd taken a step into the forests of Gallia, and ventured into the unknown willingly. He'd hoped it would have been better than the life he'd known previously, better than the slaps and spiteful words he'd received from the woman he'd called mother—better than the words of _love_ he'd never been dealt–

"_Sir?"_

He still remembered it clearly, the shunning he received when the laguz came near, the way they'd turn their backs and walk away. It had burned more significantly in his mind than any beating ever had, and weighed him down like the burden he'd committed himself to believing he was.

"…_That shall work… later, perhaps? At…"_

"_Er, momentarily… Lord Pelleas would see…"_

A little voice in the back of his head whispered _Ike_, _Ike doesn't believe that_, and Soren knew it be true. There was no need for explanation, no reason to doubt the integrity of that—Ike was a man of conviction and Soren knew that better than anyone. He'd seen the look on his face numerous years past when he'd revealed the matters of his birth, of his _parents'_ commitment to the scandal of his life—to the life of a Branded they'd assigned to him. He'd felt the horror course through his veins as he had spoken, waiting for this friend to turn his back like everyone else he'd ever known in his life do, and they hadn't even known the truth behind the matter.

But it never came. Emotions flashed across his face in a matter of seconds, little pinpricks piercing behind Soren's neck in dread, and then just as quickly lanky arms embraced him from behind roughly and whispered so quietly, "_I'm so sorry, I never even suspected_," and it was from there that trust slowly stemmed and grew tall, climbing, growing, stretching it's arms and then letting itself blossom into full glory, and his moment of triumph finally came—his final confession to make clear.

"…_ren?"_

He didn't realize until later that doubt had never entered his mind when he'd spoken in the Tower of Guidance. It was never even a thought.

"_Hey, Leo… her?"_

"…_Hardly, Edward. Stop…"_

"_Oh… Sothe?"_

"_You know… 'occupied with...'"_

"_Huh… Oooh! …I see…"_

"_Soren?"_

He couldn't associate Ike with anyone or anything. He was distinctive upon himself, the only person who'd ever displayed tenderness as if it were a gift, wrapped up with silver bows and crackling yellowing paper, meant to be given away to those deserving.

He wondered what had qualified him.

"Hey, Soren?"

He had to coerce his eyes away from the soldiers before him, release his hold on the blade's frozen handle, one slender and stiffened finger at a time as he struggled to change his attention, his mind drifting along in the shifting pools of his head.

"…Mmm?" Concerned blue eyes came into focus, and he forced himself to appear relaxed.

"You all right? You look a little weary there." Ike was watching him, and Soren was hardly aware of the idle chitchat in the background anymore, the voices of their Dawn Brigade escorts and Ranulf's sly commentary merely white noise as he focused on his friend.

He glanced around silently, analyzing the Keep and the few guards he passed; they gave him threatening glances whenever straying eyes happened to meet; he did not hesitate to return them, if not outright colorfully. Paintings lined the dank hallway, rich in vivid oil paints and the skills of an artist seeping through them adeptly. Heavy and thick drapery bound most of the windows, tied off neatly with little golden cords. Everywhere Soren looked, there was something of mild interest—and possibly threatening; it was easy enough to strangle someone with a curtain cord, and a handy window nearby to dispose of any evidence…

"Daein's hardly changed from the looks of it. You can hardly expect me to be at ease here," Soren answered wryly. Ike blinked in mild surprise, paused in the corridor. Soren hadn't even realized when their footsteps had lessened to nothing, the 'Dawn Brigade' and their third party member chatting up two guards at their posts farther ahead. He ignored them all with ease.

"I doubt anyone's going to jump your bones, if that's what you're so worried about." Ike looked bemused, a wry grin on his face, and Soren scowled lightly, though not in anger. No—he was sure it was exasperation. How many times had they had this discussion again?

"It's called taking precautions, Ike," Soren swallowed, his mouth dry.

_You should try it. Maybe it'll save you an axe in the shoulder next time…_

"I think you're overdoing it... The knife use in particular." He scowled.

"Hardly. Not when you're injured. …In fact, it's all very… _negligible_." He eyed his companion's shoulder with discord evident. "I don't like the risk involved in being here—in Daein specifically. The people would soon as kill as have to help us."

Ike's lips twitched in silent bemusement. "They were looking at me—not you. You're not the general they all hold responsible for this mess."

_Hardly justifiable. I'll be safe when I'm dead and rotten—only then._

"Exactly my reasoning." Ike laughed at him, and Soren scowled subtly.

"…I still have my left arm, you know. I can still fight if worst comes to worst."

"Yes, well… let's not test that theory, all right?"

"It's all ready healing." Ike defended. He raised his injured shoulder and flexed mildly; a muscle trembled only feebly.

"Mhmm… certainly looks like it is." Soren's left eye twitched—an annoying if not humorous quirk he'd received the misfortune of adopting from his companion.

Ike gave him a sidelong glance. "I'm sure Micaiah would lend me a vulnerary."

"Yes, and I'm sure she keeps it in the cupboard where she keeps her staves and healers reserved for your other dramatic arrivals as well."

"You mean, 'our?'"

"No. I'm not the one who has a death wish"

"Hey, that bandit jumped _me_. I didn't rush him."

"No, you decided to converse instead. 'Oh, let's talk about the current state of affairs…'" Soren raised an eyebrow, and Ike merely stared.

"…You're so weird sometimes Soren. Just relax, all right? I don't think Micaiah's one to keep guests waiting for long. She should arrive soon... right now, just try to stay calm while we kill some time."

_Relaxing is what gets fools killed._

"_Queen_ Micaiah," Soren muttered under his breath irately. He turned his face away in the direction of the walls, but did not argue as they both continued silently down the corridor.

To 'pass' the time, he attempted to distract himself with the paintings along the stone corridors, some gruesome, and some demonstrating new techniques of the art of killing he'd never once thought of. It _could_ have been fairly educational if he had had the nerve to stop and observe—though Daein was hardly an educational country, blatantly put; the fact that Queen Micaiah was on the throne proved the theory furthermore of the citizen's lack of intellect.

Soren scowled into the flames of a nearby sconce, his shadows trembling beneath his feet in exotic inky blackness. He imagined them to be laughing at him.

"Now that's an interesting painting…" Ike commented apprehensively, his movement paused.

Soren turned on reflex to comment—and was quiet as he noticed the specific image of interest. "…Serenes Massacre. That's hardly an appeasing piece to look at."

Golden bouts of brass wound their selves around the edge of the painting, forming a sturdy and provocative eye catcher compared to the plain walls behind it. The image itself was even more intriguing—though not in the pleasing sense.

The forest burned, flames reaching for the sky and herons strewn about on the charred grass, some bodies made of charcoal from the ravaging heat while others were merely ashes; silver flecks of robes the only surviving remains as branches and trees of oak and yew caught fire all around them. The image certainly screamed out unexpected horror when his eyes grazed the dark sky above, to find it was untouched by such monstrosities such as death…

_This could be a fairly accurate depiction…_

Ike had a look of disgust written on his face, a rare sight of emotion beyond the typical friendliness that he imposed. "Far from it; it's _horrible_. Someone has a twisted sense of humor if they thought of this as a work of art. This is just wrong." He scowled and turned his angered blue eyes away, looking at his companion for a mutually shared response.

Soren supposed he would humor him.

"...Seems like something Ashnard would like to see hanging; a private gallery of his achievements, brushed upon canvas and hung within his view. All the more threatening and imposing when making deals of death with visiting guests. Perhaps Queen Micaiah has a secret she'd like to share with her ideals…"

It unfortunately wasn't the response his companion seemed to be seeking.

"…That's far-off, even for you. …She's not as bad as you make her out to be, you know." His voice held a softness he did not wish to hear. Ike continued on down the hall after a moment of brief hesitation, his leather-armored boots clacking quietly upon the dull stone floor. Soren trailed slower behind him, his suspicions still lingering with him.

_She's branded. That's reason enough to don her she is and isn't._

"And you would know?" Ike turned his head to look over his good shoulder, blue eyes smiling beneath several strands of snowy-wet hair.

"Simple; she's got morals." He spoke as if were an irrefutable fact.

"Define _morals_ for me."

"She had the opportunity many times to abandon Daein if she wanted to, but didn't take any of them because her country was important to her, and the people who lived there even more so. If I were in her place I'm not sure I'd have been able to do what she did for Daein."

Soren crossed his arms, keeping out the chill as he passed a nearby window. His crimson eyes watched his reflection wearily, and he let out an audible breath. "Ike, you've a hero complex. You'd sooner gnaw off your own arm and saw off your legs then let a country fall if you could prevent it." Ike cracked a smile.

"Gnawing off my arm _is_ rather tempting at the moment," he teased.

"Mm. The bandits shared mutual feelings..." Ike laughed, and Soren's lips twitched in silent wry amusement as the halls seemed noticeably brighter, though the thought of Ike injured in any form sent his mind into reels again and he had to force his creeping eyes away from the injury nearby...

"Speaking of Daein horrors…"

They paused in the open corridor once more, and Soren felt his jittery nerves settle in a way that he knew they shouldn't have.

The eyes were what drew him in: cold, distant, malicious, and so seemingly inhuman that he couldn't fathom why they led him to see something else, see the wife beside him and the child the woman held beside her breast, an insignificant detail when the painting was obviously focused on the king and his outward hostility. Ashnard held his wife close, though the love that should have been there between the two was displayed with a possessiveness and fervor that was easily seen as madness. Soren recognized the woman's face quickly, but did not speak. Ike was peering steadily at the picture.

"Huh. I'd forgotten that Lady Almedha was married to Ashnard. She doesn't look any different than she does now… does she?"

Soren swallowed and forced himself to breath normally.

Ike didn't see what he did, the unspoken words that raged inside the woman's crimson eyes, and the defensive stance she took when holding her child in her arms. The better part of him silently prayed the Ike did not come to recognize that side as easily as he. He'd known it far too long and well to ever be comfortable around it when it came to visit.

"…It's because of her Goldoan heritage… She may have turned beorc when she became pregnant, however, I do believe she would still refrain from aging…"

His eyes were drawn back to the woman, and Soren silently pondered as to why the nations outside her own were so intriguing as to lead her down the path he'd heard she'd taken. Wasn't it enough to be accepting of what she had?

_Perhaps greed attracts greed—and stupidity all the more._

It was a bitter thought, indeed.

"Soren—what do you think it'd be like to live over hundreds of years?"

He nearly jumped. "What?"

"I said, what do you thi-"

"Ike, I heard you the first time. ...Now what do you mean by that?" He spoke carefully, and smoothed a cuffed robe placidly to hide his fumble.

"Exactly what I said, Soren." Ike's smile was carefully arranged, but Soren did not miss the strained attempt with which he tried to conceal it.

"Do you… look forward to the years ahead? I mean, after we leave Tellius behind… what do you think it will be like? Where we go; here; back home…" He trailed off.

Soren hesitated for a split second, if only to reconsider the words that tied his tongue in knots. It wasn't that he was unfamiliar with Ike's constant and limitless questions—_no,_ it was the degree with which he pertained to speak it—as if it were incredibly important that he answer it the way _he_ specifically wished to hear it.

It was a fragile moment without question.

"I think—I _believe_ it will be incredibly different here… And where we go… I honestly can't say."

"Why not?"

"You haven't suggested a destination. Moreover, you haven't even mentioned our leaving hardly at all if not for the quiet comments…"

_And the ones about you sister._

Ike furrowed his eyebrows. "I haven't?"

"No…"

"Oh—heh." He grinned. "Well, I do have a slight idea in mind…" Soren immediately felt weary.

_Somewhere far away, please…_

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He waited.

…

"Um… Ike?" It was as if he'd gotten lost within the confines of his mind, and the blue eyes turned to face him with a look much like when they were younger and suffered from fewer burdens and knew less. It simply wasn't a look Soren was expecting to see from him—so… innocent.

"…Hatari."

_Hatari. Heh, I shouldn't be surprised..._

"…And from there?"

"And from there… we'll go east from there." He grinned. "I want to see the end of the continent."

_Brilliant…_

Sore exhaled calmly. "…I hope you have a well thought out plan for this trip of yours."

Ike leaned against the stone cold wall behind him casually, waving at Ranulf as the cat laguz hurried down the hall unexpectedly with the Dawn Brigade trailing behind, a look of urgency written on his face—though his eyes remained ever fixated on his friend. He smiled kindly.

"Hey, that's the reason you're my tactician, right?" Soren paused, then slowly allowed a small smirk to make itself known.

"Good answer, Ike. …I'll see what I can do."

.

0o0o0o0

.

Nailah stared at Daein Keep before her in what could have been interpreted as disbelief—and then scowled, pale lips curved down conspicuously. She was _certain_ there hadn't been as much snow the last time she'd visited. Time couldn't have passed that quickly…

White powder was clinging to the panes far above her reach, lingering in every little crack within the stone walls, spreading its frosty silver webs over the length of it. The surrounding trees and foliage were hidden, and walking beneath them was like walking under a canopy of evergreens, everything soft and aged. When the gusts of winds blew hard, little silver ice shards made loops in the air, and danced across the back low castle grounds in little twirls. Nailah watched—mystified.

It could have been an ageless Hatari encased in ice—or rather, _desert sand_.

"…_My queen?_"

She let her good eye rove over to her right distractedly, finding Volug watching her with a raised eyebrow. Snow had crept into his hair and over his ears and tail, frosting to every little bit of available surface that did not come in contact with the warmth of his leathered skin.

"Yes, Volug?"

A frown appeared slowly on his face, and Nailah half expected a sly comment to burst forth from it—another something undoubtedly picked up from before his time as her loyal vassal. They were habits that were yet to be broken, though in truth Nailah didn't mind the majority of them. Language was not something he could be called skilled at, though his sundry comical wit and vast knowledge of warfare made him useful to her as an ideal traveling companion. His overall charm only contributed to it.

…Mildly.

"_You seem… distressed. That is all_." Nailah's ears twitched subtly and snow cascaded down her silver curls in small flurries. She turned her head sharply and they all dispersed themselves from her at once, mingling with the flakes that still fell from the black sky above.

_Fantastic; he's turning into a heron._

"Hardly," she replied dryly.

"…_You can't expect me to believe _that."

"No, but I do expect you to keep your mouth shut." It went without question and he and his vociferous eyes were silent.

She gnawed on the inside of her numb cheek contemplatively, staring at the surrounding area with her arms crossed and fingers tucked under her arms for warmth. To keep the citizens of the country at ease, she had been wise enough to wear a cloak as to cover her distinctions that set her apart from the typical beorc, and as such had managed to cover the streets of Nevassa smoothly and without interruption, Volug traveling beside her in his dog-like half-shifted form. She'd received several screams from children and shocked stares from groups of bundled beorc workers who mistook him for a rabid dog, though nothing enough as to bring about having to converse with anyone in particular on the subject of her 'pet' companion. She wasn't so sure whether it was an extreme stroke of luck that brought upon that, or rather an extreme change in the citizenry's conduct.

Surely, Queen Micaiah was a beloved ruler, but not skilled enough as to be able to change the citizenry's minds about everything in such a short time—and Nailah didn't believe in such coincidences as luck.

Volug shifted the position of his feet slothfully towards Daein Keep—and one carelessly placed foot shot him up to his knees in a bank of snow instantly. He looked extremely disgruntled as he sat there, light flakes slowly burying him alive.

Nailah stared at the scene before her.

"…You should shift. I don't want you scaring the palace guards away when we arrive like last time's visit. Your glare worked wonders on their self-esteem as soldiers." He gave Nailah a toothy grin and brought himself to a crouch, flicking away the light little patches from himself with a brush of his hands.

"_That was fun. If only they ran that fast when we were fighting Begnion, their casualties wouldn't have been as high as it were._"

She snorted in dismissal and turned her head towards the Keep. "Perhaps for _you_—_I_ was the one who had to explain the situation afterwards."

"_Micaiah thought it was comical_."

"She obviously doesn't know the truth of the matter then, hmm?" Her words were frosty, and Volug's smirk distanced itself. He frowned slowly, dark eyes narrowing.

"…_Something's eating at you… Are you really going to keep denying me that?_"

She scowled at the castle walls. "It's nothing you need worry yourself with. We'll discuss it later."

_When I'm not focused on migrating the country, _she added silently.

It wasn't unusual for him to question her feelings on matters, though it was typical for him to be persistent about it. Nailah supposed it was one of only a few downfalls that he donned that truly irked her so.

The crunching of snow signaled Volug's movement and Nailah twisted her head to find him assessing her, tattooed arms crossed and strong expression weary where he stood. She knew that look—much too well.

"…Whatever you want to say, speak." He frowned.

"…_It's Queen Micaiah, isn't it? She bothers you_."

Nailah kept her face smooth and impassive as she spoke, hiding her surprise. "I don't think 'bothers' is the right word for describing how I feel. It's moreover the fact that she's young and a ruler of a country that's known for its reputation of being anti-laguz…"

"_That troubles you?_" His tone was dubious.

She gave him a sharp look with her good eye, blinking hurriedly when white flakes caked her lashes in bunches. "Admittedly, it even worries me. Whatever her actions are for Daein affect Hatari directly. Our nations are as close to being neighbors more than Begnion is, and any decision she makes may affect mine in the long run. …I don't like having to change my decisions so they can cooperate with another country's ruling."

"_That shouldn't be too much of an issue. She doesn't come across as one of the beorc who would knowingly propel anything ill-willed towards us. She likes Prince Rafiel, and she likes _you_._"

_Yes, but as displayed in this last war, sentiments don't play much of a part here politically speaking…_

She frowned. "Feelings can only go so far when you're responsible for thousands of people. They can't change what may be a necessity, nor can they avert political prejudice against us. I have every reason to be concerned over this."

Volug was quiet. "_So… you're going to worry yourself to death over something that hasn't even happened?_"

She snorted. "No. I'm simply planning for possibilities. I don't want to rule anything out that could happen."

"…_That moreover sounds like the smartest course of action._"

"Glad you approve. However, I wouldn't put it past history to blindside us. It's happened in Hatari and it's happened here. Seems like a recurring habit," she finished dryly, shifting her gaze back to the Keep.

"_Well I suppose we'll just have to be careful, won't we?_"

"Exactly. Now shift so we can go."

Volug looked annoyed, but Nailah was all ready moving away before he could respond, her stride making determined and graceful steps towards the castle that laid before them like a beast, it's true malice yet to be uncovered.

She silently hoped things weren't all that cracked up she had led him to believe.

.

0o0o0o0

.

(A/N): As strange as this is, Nailah and Volug are wholly easier to write than Ike and the rest of them are. (Did it show? D:) I think the reason Nailah's so much easier to write is simply because she's not a character that many people write about. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't have to own up to much, only her canon personality (and the incredibly awesome fics in her catergory... woops). And Volug? Heck, he's got what, maybe ten lines in the game? He's practically free game, personailty wise. ...Shame on me for liking the conveniences he offers to writers? :p Haha, anyway... thanks for reading, and, um, I would *love* a review. Seriously. Criticism is loved, and even a single thought on this would be so appreciated. Here's to hoping that didn't sound like begging...

Yeah, anyways... have a wonderful evening everyone. Best to you and yours. :)


	6. Vanishing Acts

**Genre: **Adventure/friendship  
**Words: **8,900-  
**Rating**_: _T for teen  
**Main Characters**_: _Ike and Nailah [this feels so redundant]  
**Summary**_:_ Post RD. Several months after Ashera's defeat, Ike, Soren, and Ranulf leave for Hatari. Nailah decides she wants to reunite her lost nation with the rest of Tellius, but fate has a different idea in mind.

**(Pathetic A/N):** Hi. I'm alive. I swear to it. And I'm sorry. So, so, soooo terribly sorry for not updating. And you want to know why I haven't been? Because this chapter hates me with a burning passion... Quite frankly, the two months that I spent *not* updating this were two months spent editing the same thing, over and over and over again. And again. _And again. AND AGAIN._

EDITING. FREAKING BANE OF MY EXISTENCE-EDITING. BELIEVE ME, I RETURN YOUR SENTIMENTS A HUNDRED TIMES OVER, DARLING. AGAIN AND AGAIN. FEEL MY UNDYING LOVE, BEEOTCH. /shot

Yeah... o.o Suffice to say, this chapter is not as long as it once was or could have been (15,000 words, anyone?).

Dialogue and Soren hate me. Really, that's all you need to know.

(A big thank you to all my lovely readers and reviewers! You are all a huge inspiration for everything I write. Thank you very much for sticking with me and I hope you do enjoy this new chapter. I can quite honestly say that this is my best and most important one yet. :)

0o0o0o0

Travels of the East –barefootbean  
Chapter V: Vanishing Acts

Daein- Daein Keep  
The year 649, autumn

0o0o0o0

.

_This snow is ridiculous..._

Limbs chilled and mind weary, Nailah positioned herself against the western side of the dully lit room in Daein Keep and rubbed at her arms furiously, gleaming bangles jingling whimsically as she took her seat upon a small and worn bench, the paint stripped away from years of usage. The crackling hearth and companion nearby provided pleasant sources of warmth, but the deafeningly empty stone quarters surrounding her left her more cold and guarded than she would have expected. The quietness and lack of activity was unnerving; Serenes had lost so much more, and yet it was Daein's corridors that overflowed with dread.

Volug was leaning against the wall nearby, eyes closed and arms crossed. To a regular beorc, he may have appeared unwelcoming and unmoving, though Nailah knew better. Attentiveness hid just beneath his carefully conceived mask, and at the end of the day in good company he was just as real and fallible as any living creature. Albeit a bit unsocial, and even less charming than he thought himself to be, she couldn't deny his abilities as a bodyguard.

The long trek from Serenes hadn't been nearly as difficult as Nailah had originally anticipated, except the unexpected chilling weather, but despite that, no interruptions had been brought to her attention.

In hindsight, the lack of it disturbed her. Daein did not take kindly to strangers of any form, and even less those of laguz. She'd witnessed it and been told of it many times—but the citizenry of Nevassa hadn't cast her and Volug so much as a glance as she'd shuffled through the outskirts of town, and it was odd, as even the children were silent and sullen as they both leisurely made their way to the castle. Daein was a dreary place, but the people were as rambunctious and vicious as any warmongers could be, so the nation never lacked personality. Not seeing so much as a drunken man in the streets left Nailah concerned.

A dead Daein surely signaled the apocalypse.

A dead Daein certainly signaled problems for her. Lots.

_The migration won't be happening if I can't gain Daein as an ally. It should be easy enough to make terms that Micaiah can agree to, it's only a matter of her being able to follow through with our agreement._

_Of course, the girl's certainly not stupid. She may have a heart of gold, but Daein's welfare will come before my own no matter the situation... Hatari may have to wait longer than I'd like..._

_Ah, there will be no easy way to go about this arrangement. Damn. _

Nailah brooded softly and rearranged herself until she was sprawled out comfortably along her back, bare arms above her head and legs dangling off both ends of the bench boastfully; it did little but cramp her neck and tail, she found.

"…_You're awfully restless_."

She slowly tilted her head to the side to glance at Volug, watching him mutely as he stared at her evenly. He'd been more thoughtful and observant than usual, and she wondered silently if thoughts of home are what had enlightened him to take heed of others around him—particularly herself.

"_Does it bother you?_" His voice rang quietly throughout the room, quiet and undemanding. She took her time to work up a reply, tail flicking out to the side in soft wisps of silver. Volug needed to work on the specifics of his questions.

"Mm… Nevassa's streets?"

"_Sure_."

She hesitated for a moment, before speaking grudgingly what gripped her mind. "…Yes. A bit."

"_I figured as much..._"

She laughed softly, fiddling with the heron made silk fabric of her sari, fingers clenching and unclenching periodically. Habit. "...Daein is supposed to be recovering, but considering how the capitol doesn't look any different since the end of the war, I don't think Micaiah has been receiving any aid at all. She's been lying about Daein's condition to Serenes to cover her weakness. Smart, but also very, very stupid."

Volug frowned deeply. "_That's a bit of a strong conclusion. I would have thought the Apostle would have offered her aid. Considering Micaiah's her sister and all. And since Daein was formerly under their rule._"

"Under the Senators laws, you mean."

"_Well, that too. She has to take responsibility for them though, right?_"

Nailah blinked slowly. "...Yes, that's how it should be. However, relations can only go so far and provide so much. Her blood ties have only become recently discovered, and it's not public knowledge, in any case."

"_Explain?"_

She sighed and rolled over on to her stomach, an arm propping her head up tiredly. Sleep was surely a prominent prospect. She couldn't say the same for Volug, though.

"Crimea and Daein both are sub-terrain states of Begnion. As far as status goes, Begnion is the motherland of them both, and therefore comes first in aid requirements. Sanaki may be Micaiah's sister, and theoretically speaking, she may also wish to aid Daein in their reconstruction, but as the Apostle of a failing theocracy, her citizenry and government have to come first. If they can't help themselves, then they're merely wasting their time trying to provide for Daein."

_Serenes was merely an exception. Though it seems to be less of an exception and more of a general rule nowadays..._

Nailah scowled at the floor thoughtfully, a single arm trailing upon the gray stones. "...On second thought, even if Begnion were able to send aid, it's a matter of Daein accepting it. I'd imagine that the people are still harboring bitter feelings from their former rulers, anyways." She quieted.

"…_You seriously think they would do that_?" Her ears twitched at the sound of fabric shifting against the wall. "_All for the sake of—what? Pride over something they can't fix?" _She didn't strive to hide the scowl that came with Volug's unseemly proclamation. Had death become nothing more than the manner behind swatting a fly to him? Daein had lost a lot more than a war.

_Labor camps aren't so easily dismissed, Volug. It's not hard to relate to their rage._

"…That is what it tends to come down to. These beorc do not wish to have their weaknesses paraded, so to speak." Volug cast her a grim look.

"…_So it really is more of a matter of idiocy, then._"

Nailah's lips twitched, though it wasn't humor that brought the action. His carefully created mask was slipping. They both knew he wasn't as seemingly cruel as he tried to depict himself to be. He had changed from the out lander he once had been.

_You try too hard to maintain your composure. You're just as mundane as the rest of us._

_Admit it._

"...You pity them, don't you? These beorc people have grown on you as much as they have Micaiah this past year." He tensed at her accusing tone, arms frozen in place against his chest. "...While it is ultimately _their_ decision in the end whether to reject or accept aid from the other nations, the likelihood of Micaiah refusing is low."

His voice was quiet but forced. "..._As long as it doesn't bring any more damage to this place, I don't really care how it plays out._"

Nailah relaxed. "Mm. That's probably for the best."

Volug was snarky in more ways than one.

Nailah had forgotten about it, amidst leaving Hatari behind and striving to survive the chaos of war that he had kept quiet most of the time, unable to communicate as fluently as she did in the modern tongue. Opportunities for casual chat were scarce; ensuring their lives was, blatantly put, much more important. She hadn't even realized the decline of their conversing.

_There were more important things that needed my attention. _

Rafiel. Serenes. Fighting a Goddess...

Silence fell upon her shoulders like a suffocating coat, the thick and sweltering kind, and Nailah kept her lips taught and sealed should she feel the antic desire to speak up. Exhaustion was snapping at her heels, her patience being crushed beneath the ringing in her ears.

Political issues were a tiring ordeal—even for an experienced wolf laguz of her stature. Nailah could admit it, grudgingly at best, that invincibility was proven not to be held by anyone these days—not even by the Goddess. So fatigue crept regularly—and that was simply how it was.

Nailah felt no comfort such realizations brought; they were merely the facts of life as she knew it to be.

Volug was a fool to overlook the will of Daein. Who was he to dismiss their pride as mere bumbling and stumbling? The road to victory was never satisfyingly smooth—he knew that. So what if denial was merely a stepping stone for Daein to use for recovery, and their pride the legs with which they sprung. Had he not used those same legs to place himself in the position he claimed now all those years ago? Had he not risked everything on the same pride? What of his own so-called 'misdeeds'?

Nailah's glance was brief and innocently derived of its purpose; it wasn't difficult to catch her own stubborn reflection mirrored in the pool of his hardened eyes.

_Surely we're the proudest fools of them all._

_Anything weak Hatari will be guaranteed to snap in its jowls._

Nailah restlessly turned over on her side, until she was facing the wall and staring at nothing but the cracks that marred it. Absently, her fingers trailed over them. Maybe she was making things out harder than they really were… Daein wasn't the only proud nation on Tellius. If Daein couldn't provide her country with aid from refusing their own, well… there would be other ways to get by. Her people were natural adepts at survival; they'd been doing it for decades—centuries before—and aid had been naught but a dead dream.

Reflexively, she wound the cloth covering her eye around a single finger.

_I would know the truth of it._

"_Still,_ _I don't think Micaiah would lie to any of us." _Volug's voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"Oh?" Nailah wet her lips and cast him a side long glance. His eyes flashed beneath his hair and he ducked his head submissively; rarely did he show such respect in private quarters for her. "Really?"

"_I would think she has more reasons _not _to lie, wouldn't you? She kept secrets during the war from everyone, and if she hadn't, bloodshed more or less could have been averted. She's proven her strong-will and resolve to live; I doubt many people will forget that quickly."_

"Her pride got in the way of rationalizing. I doubt people will forget _that_ either."

"_The blood-pact didn't offer much in the way of options at the time. The risks of doing so much as anything at all were far too high—and making amends for a situation like that would be nigh impossible._"

"She had a will of her own. If the girl could drive an entire nation to rise from the slums to embrace a rising rebellion, I'm sure she would have the resolve to risk her neck to have spoken up to the Laguz Alliance. Or at least, to us."

Volug let out a breath. "_Sure—if she wanted to condemn her entire nation to their deaths._"

Nailah _hmmed _bemusedly."Ha. While that may be true, you're missing the point I was trying to make clear to you."

Volug quirked an eyebrow as if to say how clever he thought he really was. Nailah flashed her teeth in the shifting glows of the fire.

"Everyone lies, and she was no exception to that rule."

He rolled his eyes at her dramatics and stretched out his legs, pushing off the wall stiffly. Nailah watched him in veiled interest. "..._Fine. _Theoretically_ speaking then, let's say... she's trying to avoid being in the public eye. To do so, she'd have to lie. Maybe not because she wishes to, but because it's necessary_."

The situation with the blood-pact_._

The words went unsaid but it was as though they could have been spoken aloud, and Nailah's gut tensed lightly.

"...We won't be getting anywhere if you refer to everything hypothetically. It won't change the facts of what's been done." Volug scowled irately, lips tugging downward until his pearly teeth were bared.

"_She's not bad, Nailah._" Exasperation and irritability made his tone sharp. "_Why are you so intent on making her out to be so? She's not the villain in this situation_."

_So am I the culprit then?_

She pursed her lips and frowned languidly, turning her predatory gaze to the ceiling. She'd bathe in the luxury of his reaction when it came. He still had much to learn. Time was the only difference between them.

"I never said I thought she was, now did I?"

Volug froze, back stiffening and turning rigid as a plank. It only took him seconds to realize he'd stumbled into her own clever trap of wit and words. His lips twitched into the beginnings of an angered smile. "_...You-_" He shook his head in frustration.

_Got you._

"Micaiah and Daein will make a good ally; I have no doubts about that." Her voice sounded soft without the power of her gaze on him. "I simply wanted to make sure you thought the same–"

"_By baiting me? Is it really that hard to just ask?_"

"Would you have risen to her defense otherwise, Volug?"

No.

He grimaced angrily, fingers clenching around his arms as he pulled a face at the floor—the ceiling—the dust in the crevices—the ice caked windows; anywhere but her. "..._That's not the point. You could have said something._" Frustration.

Nailah shook her head, the sharp clasp of her necklace digging into the base of her neck. "Focus on what's important. You told me what I needed to hear."

Volug turned his back to shield his eyes further from Nailah's view. If they could have smoldered with rage anymore, they would have been the color of coal. Surely she would have something snappy to say about that.

The tension eased from his figure slowly, and Nailah knew for sure when breezes from his tail no longer struck her face. She took a breath to keep her voice even.

"...I will form an alliance with Daein and Serenes when I get the chance. The Crimean queen has already agreed to my terms. When the time comes, I will attempt to make an alliance with Begnion as well."

His voice came grudgingly, though she knew she had been forgiven.

"..._And what of the other laguz nations? What about Goldoa and Gallia?_"

"With due time. Daein is closest, therefore, they are our most valuable ally."

_If something were to go wrong..._

Nailah withheld the words on the tip of her tongue and continued. "I have no concerns about the laguz. The beorc with their stubborn reluctance is what may be an issue. I want to address that first."

Volug grimaced despondently. "_...There is always something. Isn't there._"

She didn't bother to work up a response. What was there to say when everything had already been said and nothing was left but the truth?

She started instead, an appraising look lighting her features in the dim fire light: "...You know... for being as relatively new to this land as we are, you know more than I thought you would." He tensed. "...I do not recall having taught you any history lessons, Volug." He looked slightly embarrassed, a child caught doing something naughty, and glanced away out the far window.

"..._You didn't. Rafiel rambles when he's bored_."

Her lips twitched into a bemused curve at the welcomed mention of the heron prince. "Ahh…"

_Rafiel._

Nailah's smile slowly faded as she was reminded of his lack of presence. Rafiel didn't do well alone, he had told her once. While he refrained from speaking of his past, she knew his ghosts still surfaced from time to time, and with it, unwelcome memories of a betrayal so long ago. With only months to distance himself between the last war and Serenes Massacre only decades before, those memories had surfaced again, becoming alive and tender to the touch. Perhaps the company of his siblings and the forest would help quell those, and her concern for him would be unwarranted, as time ran its course...

It was a hopeful thought, but Rafiel was more fragile than glass. It would take more than simply time to ease experiences such as those. He needed companionship.

And she wasn't there to offer it to him when she wanted to be.

"_The treaties. You'll make them later_?" Nailah glanced up, and all thoughts of him distanced themselves.

"…Most likely." She blinked, speaking slowly. "They will have to be made sometime, but now is not the time. I still have to pass this with the Elders when we return." He nodded his head stiffly in acceptance, anger fading slightly.

"_Who will you send to deliver them when the time comes_?"

She smiled with false apathy, eye aglow.

"You."

He was quiet for some time, eyes closed, and then: "_...I really hope you know what you're doing, Nailah..."_

"I'm fully aware, I can assure you." Her eye twinkled humorously.

"_It doesn't seem like it. You wouldn't be planning to send me away otherwise._"

"I have my reasons."

"_...Care to share them_?"

"You know the lands. You know the people, and you know the language. I can't expect that of anyone else, now can I?" Her smile still lingered, and her pale lips drew back to reveal mother of pearl teeth. "I'll need you to visit Serenes and speak with Rafiel for me. He will want to know how Hatari is progressing. It will be your job to keep everyone informed."

"_...Anything else, my queen_?" The formality stung lightly—but she didn't dare give him the satisfaction, keeping her smiling expression intact. It was a matter of pride now, and she wasn't one for turning challenges down.

"On the contrary... yes."

Volug grimaced, but didn't say another word. He couldn't outsmart logic, even if he were a scholar.

And he most certainly couldn't outsmart a queen.

"Yes, one last thing... If you're going to give me a look and a mouthful like_ that_, you better give me a damn good reason why I shouldn't send you. Since I've been so generous as to share _mine,_ humor me?"

He met her challenge with unexpected grace, head tilted to meet her gaze.

"_Fine._" Nailah watched him swallow, as if steeling his nerves. He let out a breath, voice quiet.

"Nailah... _I wish to stay behind to assist you_... because I not comfortable... elsewhere."

Nailah kept her face blank, evaluating. It was obvious their jests at one another had taken on different meanings than what they had intoned at some point in time, as Volug was being completely serious.

She held his eyes firmly. His expression was stubborn, and she had to wonder if the prospect of being away from home secretly distressed him. It was a thin and verging on unlikely possibility for a bodyguard such as himself, but it was one she wouldn't forget about anytime soon. Volug loved Hatari as much as she did, and leaving across the desert just after returning to their homeland would be a letdown.

_I suppose you don't realize what you have until it's missed_.

_...What an underestimated saying._

"Other measures will have to be taken," she said coolly.

She listened in anticipation for a response, focused, but one did not come.

Volug retreated to his own world, and silence settled over the atmosphere like an obscene blanket. She shifted her position uncomfortably and leaped to her feet to tend to the dying fire for the sake of doing something, Volug still standing but now within her lissom grasp. Nailah realized suddenly that it would be easy enough to reach out and offer some wise words of comfort to him, as that was what a gentle queen would do, but her gut spoke volumes and told her otherwise. They were both too stubborn to say the words that should have been spoken anyway. Too acquainted with one another to know that the words would only be meaningless and cost more to say then they really meant to one another anywa–

"…Thank you, Nailah."

–And yet they still came.

_Perhaps one of us isn't as stubborn as we think_. She didn't even realize until he left the room like a ghost that she'd spoken her thoughts aloud, and time seemed to quicken like the sands in an hourglass.

Nailah blew out a steady breath to stay focused and placidly tossed a nearby log onto the blaze, trying to derive some enjoyment from the warmth that seeped into her skin despite the loss of company. The smell of pine was sickeningly sweet to her sensitive nose as the wood burned and crackled, but she found herself gratefully embracing the distraction for once.

While it covered up the atrocious smell of melancholy in the room, she still didn't know how Volug could stand it in the corridors.

.  
0o0o0o0  
.

"You'll agree to the terms? I know this is a difficult situation for Daein to be in, but, in exchange for equality… Gallia would like to lend its support to the reconstruction if you would let us. Over time, it may help ease the prejudice even more. King Skrimir volunteered personally to come here and aid Nevassa himself with the rebuilding."

The look on Queen Micaiah's face was pleased and concerned and everything in between, though Ranulf was sure he had her cornered with his last line. As the decision maker of her nation, all and any offered hospitality she denied would be denying her people the help they so desperately needed. She was too softhearted to say no, but too proud to outwardly say yes either—as were all Daeins. Ranulf tried to give her the benefit of the doubt –_really_ tried– but the fact that she even hesitated after everything the Laguz Alliance had gone through in the end to save Daein was unnecessary.

How could she hold on to such a sham when Yune herself had told her directly otherwise the truth of all the maddening bigotry?

She twitched and exhaled in a rush, Sothe leaning against the wall nearby to offer steady support, he presumed. Ranulf watched them both silently from beneath the brim of his cap, his at ease business face betraying nothing of his thoughts. Certainly they'd been through a lot together, but no more than a certain other group of mercenaries. They'd made difficult choices as well, so why couldn't Micaiah live up to making hers?

"…Was this idea created under the assumption of ending the prejudice, or by some other means I should know of?" Her silver hair fell around her eyes in a frame, and with alarm he realized she looked more aged in that moment than he'd ever seen before. Dark bags were swollen under her eyes, and her mouth held a grim expression he'd seen on Ashera's face not too long ago… The cool resemblance was unnerving.

_Suspicious to the end… Suppose maybe even the Maiden of Dawn can't avoid having a few loose screws… Can't blame her, really, after everything that's happened. Killing a Goddess doesn't really help anyone's sanity anyway._

Ranulf cleared his throat haphazardly. "The original idea was to propose a propaganda ensuring the odds of ending the prejudice between the people, yes, but Queen Elincia also had made the suggestion of setting a meeting between the laguz and beorc royal classes in public monthly. In this way, the people can see that beorc and laguz truly have no qualms against one another."

"Wouldn't that be dangerous?"

He glanced over at Sothe in surprise. "Well, yeah, more than likely. But we can't really advance without taking risks, you know?"

Micaiah nodded her head. "That… that makes more sense than I would have thought it to have had… " Her voice trailed off, and Ranulf waited.

She did that a lot.

He remembered when he first met the girl at the Ribahn River, rivulets of mud up to her knees and eyes staring at him defiantly as she claimed to be there under orders from King Pelleas. She hadn't looked pleased to be in her position then, and certainly now she didn't seem to be too happy either. The pride she carried on her shoulders was the price she had to pay for her countries mistakes centuries and decades ago. He could understand her hesitation for making agreements, but… the lack of trust was truly irksome. Even Skrimir thought her exceedingly stubborn—and he was one to talk.

Ranulf cleared his throat lightly. "So… can you agree to it?"

"The proposal?" Her eyes glowed warmly—honey ochre in a small round-shaped face.

"Well, unless there's something else you had in mind…"

"Yes, I can agree to this." Her answer was unexpectedly strong, and Ranulf genuinely beamed at her for the first time since he entered the room.

"Really truly?"

"Yes, Ranulf."

"Fantastic! Skrimir and Queen Elincia will be thrilled to hear the news."

Her face softened slightly, and she flipped her head around to smile at him, the dark bags under her eyes not as prominent with that particular action. "Good, I'm very glad. I want this prejudice to end quickly and painlessly. The end of the war should have been the last of it."

"It should have been, but we all knew it wouldn't be _that _simple." Sothe slunk slowly away from the wall, taking his place at Micaiah's side in several easy strides. The skinny beorc had grown even more since Ranulf had last seen him, his frame taller and muscles larger; he almost towered over the smaller girl. "Undoubtedly this may take years to change. Though, we're up for it."

_Glad to see you're still an optimist, Sothe._

Ranulf handed Micaiah a nearby quill and shrugged his shoulders in half-hearted agreement at her companion. "They aren't kidding when they say old habits die hard, you know. Underestimated statement of the century and all."

"Yeah, I guess so..." Sothe trailed off, watching Micaiah's hand evenly as she wrote her name slowly in small little loops, the quill scritchy-scratching it's way gracefully across the parchment despite her apparent fatigue of it all. Every second felt drawn out as he watched her hand signing the agreement between their countries. Everything was changing for the better—and so much faster than he had expected.

Ranulf froze. And stared.

"Hey... you're not covering your brand anymore?" He asked softly.

The quill twitched and paused in its scratching momentarily, ink sinking a hideous black hole in the damp parchment from where the tip rested. She flexed her branded hand carefully, stretching out her fingers before gently letting the quill fall from her grasp and beside the parchment with a soft clack on the wooden desk. Micaiah held her hand out for him in plain sight, but averted her eyes to gaze at Sothe from the side, a silent exchange of words passing from her to his own weary face in all of a matter of seconds.

The small bird-like blossom brand on her hand seemed like watercolor ink, contrasting against her fairly pale skin. A lot of things contrasted about her, Ranulf observed solemnly, not all of them good.

_It's so easy to overlook the persecution of the branded when wrapped up in your own problems..._

_I always overlook Daein's issues because I'm so involved in Gallia's and they persecute us as much as we despise them... no wonder why the branded hate us so much. We all must look selfish and merciless to them when we place our desires above their own..._

"...No, I'm not," she spoke in monotone, her fingers chalk stiff in mid-air. "...I haven't been since the war ended several months ago, when my... coronation took place. The people of Daein Keep and the royal court all know what I am now."

"Micaiah, don't speak as if you're some thing..." Sothe's tired voice hardly registered in Ranulf's well-trained ears as he tried not to balk at the young girl.

_...This could explain a lot about the lack of communication. The weeks of delays without a word—she must have been having problems in court when she was crowned–_

_This could also explain why Daein's people seem so tense and reserved..._

Micaiah lifted her head and met his gaze silently, golden eyes lit with a new found proclamation of something he didn't recognize as she focused all her attention on him; her eyes were almost blinding they were so luminescent in the room.

She did not look particularly impressed by his statement.

"The people know?" Ranulf winced. "...Were you the one to tell them?"

Sothe stood stock still as if in anticipation for trouble, but Micaiah kept her emotions veiled perfectly behind her unreadable expression. Was it hardened by grief? Or by her own people's cruelty? It wasn't hard for Ranulf to imagine how Daein would react to her brand—much less to _everything_ else that took place during the war. The very thought made his hair stand on end, and his tail twitched as the cold realization dawned.

_She's lucky to even be breathing right now._

"No," she spoke hastily, her voice holding poorly hidden fatigue, "I was not the one to tell them of the war's events. But I can tell you how it came to be, if you are so inclined to listen. I'd rather recite the facts than let you draw your own conclusion. Though... yours probably wouldn't be that far off the mark." With the silver crown embedded in her hair and eyes of the goddess staring at him, it was easy to believe that she truly hadn't known what her heritage in court would cause. But after everything they learned at the Tower of Guidance...

Sothe raised an eyebrow inquiringly as Ranulf pointedly shifted his gaze to stare anywhere but him—and met Micaiah's patient waiting stare. She looked as though she carried the burden of the world's problems on her shoulders. Lost and dazed. Unsure of what to do, but confident in what she knew.

She looked a lot of things.

The ache in his gut told him he needed to ask. There was no avoiding the topic—insecurities be damned.

"...If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to hear everything you can tell me... and it's not just because it's my duty to ask, either." Micaiah smiled slightly and nodded as he finished, but the small amount of light that lit her eyes dimmed within seconds, and she seemed distant again.

Ranulf began to wonder if she had ever truly smiled since her coronation took place. Been happy in her position as queen. Sothe was probably the only thing keeping her grounded if things were as bad as she made them sound, he figured.

Micaiah took a steadying breath. "...Shortly after the war ended, when we managed to return home here to Nevassa, the capitol was in absolute shambles. People were clawing at the doors of Daein Keep when we arrived, begging for answers, and only the soldiers persistence kept everyone in check during our absence—or, King Pelleas's absence, to be more accurate... When Ashera turned everyone to stone, we were in the middle of war at Fort Nox as you know, and so when Yune restored everyone to life... people were thrown a bit off balance, so to speak." Ranulf frowned slightly.

_That's how it was with everyone on Tellius after Yune's restoration. It's only natural that there would be problems after a situation like _that_._

"They were all that way," Sothe interjected after a moment's pause, crossing his arms casually. "From what I heard, most of the Daein soldiers laid down their weapons and returned to Nevassa, but, knowing how moronic people at war can be, I'm sure you can guess as to what really happened."

Ranulf braced his arms over his knees and bowed his head in defeat; he knew what they were going to say. And it was the worst possible thing.

How many times had he heard it before? And now—from the lips of his allies? There was no greater betrayal than that of a friend.

He would not allow himself to rage at something that could not be undone. Pointlessness.

Micaiah sagged, her unhappiness evident. "...Some of the soldiers were still angry with the laguz, and seeing how most of your brethren had reverted to being vulnerable... I am very ashamed to say, but... they—m-my army... took advantage of the situation...

"...Took advantage?" His mouth felt like sandpaper, and Ranulf lightly moistened his lips. "Explain?" His voice began to sound hoarse; crackly and gnarled like the limbs on a dying tree.

She couldn't have looked more rattled at his request. "T-there was a minor battle... but blood... was still spilt anyway. A general under my command managed to quell the riot, but by then, several laguz soldiers had—had been hauled... away." Sothe silently guided Micaiah over to a chair across from him, near the fire, and she sunk on the edge of the seat almost as if she were trying to hide. Hide from what? From how ugly her citizens' actions were?

Sothe remained standing, hand resting on Micaiah's shoulder. The solemn look he was giving Ranulf was almost pitiful, and he felt his stomach sour even more. "Are you sure you want to hear the rest of this Ranulf? There isn't exactly a happy ending..."

It was without question. Ranulf needed to hear the rest.

He flicked his tail in answer.

Sothe swallowed and nodded, but he looked as enthusiastic as Micaiah did. He waited for the horrors to be told.

"...When we arrived back in Nevassa, those soldiers... the rioters, they... they had the laguz they had taken... strung up by the ankles, stripped, and dragged around town as a sign of victory for all of the citizens to see, I was told. ...When we finally managed to catch the soldiers who had initiated it from the start, they had draped the bodies over the balcony outside, and..." Sothe closed his eyes, as if it were painful for him to speak, "...and had removed all telltale signs of their laguz heritage; they were without their ears and tails, Ranulf. ...They could have been beorc if people hadn't seen what had really happened."

Micaiah's face turned pale and she bowed over in her seat, and Ranulf imagined he mirrored her expression right then. There were truly no words to describe the illness that constricted him.

He felt reduced to _nothing_.

Ranulf stood slowly, movements stiff and joints creaking and cracking and crying like that of an old man, and with alarm, he realized his hands were shaking. He stared. And stared. And stared. And stared. And swallowed, throat tight as though he had swallowed a rock, clenching his fists to rid himself of his display of weakness. But he wasn't weak at all.

"Ranulf...?"

"...This racism is never going to end. Is it."

It was defeat that stared back at him—sockets hollow and rotten from years of dealing with these sort of horrors.

He was so incredibly sick of it all.

It was all a blur. Everything. He wasn't sure if it were tears that clouded his vision as the realization became tangible, or the ice creeping over his body that made his eyes sting, but it all hurt.

The door burst open with a bang, a clash of red armor and chaos alerting the queen to something urgent. Vaguely, he was aware of someone's palms shaking his shoulders, yelling into his face as though they didn't see his laguz ears a top his head. _His ears._

_Are not even the living laguz acknowledged anymore? _

It was a struggle to lift his head, to look Sothe pointedly in the eye as the beorc struggled for his attention, expression desperate as he violently shook him once more. He still felt ill, still hazy, but he wasn't so far gone as to not be able to read his lips. And what he read was like another blow to his already shattered facade.

"What_ happened to Ike?_"

.  
0o0o0o0  
.

It was food that would awake the slumbering beast in the morning.

Because Soren knew that was the only reliable thing that could wake Ike from the dead. That, and his sister when she was in a rage.

He was deep in the lulls of sleep on one of the three mattresses in their shared chambers for the night, face ashen and slick with sweat upon the bundles and bundles of quilt that had been supplied. A crude, makeshift bandage of cloth was wrapped tightly around his shoulder wound, bound securely with several tie offs around his neck and chest, as if Ike would fall apart at the seems otherwise.

The actual wound itself had been healed with the assistance of several palace bishops to the point of nothing but a thin pink scar as a reminder of what had once been, but out of concern for Ike tearing it open in his sleep, the bandages had been left on with Soren's word. It was probably for the best anyway; Ike had terrible luck when it came to injuries, and sleeping. He just never knew when to sit still. Or _how _to sit still would have been more accurate...

It wouldn't have been as terrible, Soren argued, if Ike hadn't torn open his wound again unsuspectingly upon their arrival, but no. Lady Luck wasn't as kind nor merciful as that.

It was a sickening sight, with Ashnard's portrait staring at the two of them as Ike had collapsed to the floor in surprise, his scarred fingers churning red with blood as he desperately tried to stop the bleeding... If there were such things as ghosts, Soren imagined the Mad King would have been howling with glee. Crowing in victory as he suspected ghostly figures may have done.

_How ironic for Gawain's son to die in the palace he had once served so diligently..._

_But he's not dead yet. _

Yet. _Yet._

"Soren."

He startled, Ranulf's voice snapping him out of his dozing as his boots hit the floor. The rocking chair creaked as he swiveled his head to the side to assess the laguz coming through the thick chamber door, knuckles rapping softly and then closing it quietly behind him with a light _click_.

Soren blinked wearily. Blood stains still lingered in his garments; a dull, cherry red integrated in Ranulf's once clean pants. He turned his head away wordlessly.

"So..." The cat laguz cleared his throat, paused at the foot of Ike's bed. "...How's he looking? Any improvements since I've been gone?" His eyes analyzed the sleeping beorc. Searching. Probing.

Soren grimaced, supporting his head with a fist under his chin as his hair spilled around him like ink in the night, a dark green in the torchlight when strands caught. "...No. Even for Ike it will take time for him to recover from an ordeal like this. He lost a lot of blood from that wound..."

"Yeah. I know. I've been wearing it for the last several hours."

Soren blinked again, more slowly. He wasn't sure whether to find the laguz's jesting humorous or obnoxious. He was strongly leaning towards the latter in the heat of the moment.

"...Nice stains," He remarked absently.

"Nice hair," Ranulf immediately shot back. "You remind me of Skrimir, when he gets up in the morning. All the frizz and big talking ...Only you have a much smaller appetite."

"...I'm not laughing."

"I am. Ha. Ha." Ranulf cracked a smile, but it didn't meet his eyes. Instead, he looked ragged. As if he were fighting a war in side his head, putting up a front.

Soren saw that look frequently, but never has it been so plainly obvious on the face of a laguz. With every mission the Greil Mercenaries took up; with the wars he took part in; when they had to burn their base to ash.

When Ike's father was murdered. That expression was the equivalent of an enemy; it returned just as frequently as it left.

He didn't want to identify with Ranulf. He didn't anything to do with the laguz at all.

"...This is hardly the time for jokes, Ranulf." Soren glowered and glanced over at Ike's sleeping form as if he could will him to wake with his vexation at the laguz alone. He didn't like Ranulf, and the laguz certainly didn't like him very much. Though Soren suspected the tolerance with which he was regarded was purely through Ike's doing, it would only make things worse for himself later on if he truly snapped at the laguz, and surely vise versa.

Though, Soren liked the lack of conversation that their... abrasive relationship brought, admittedly. Ike wouldn't approve, but it was his secret, and not all things had to be shared.

At least, not the important things...

Ranulf let out a short bark of a laugh, head tilted languidly. "I call it 'humor', Soren," he said dryly. "Humor. And actually, this is _the perfect time_ for jokes. One of us has to talk without a stick up their ass all the time."

What should have been surprising to hear was surprisingly easily ignored.

Soren snorted in disgusted dismissal, and stretched from his chair for his tome on the floor, pulling it up by the cover and into his lap with a subtle thump and flutter of dark pages once more. Ranulf watched him for a reaction, leaning against one of the posts of the bed, and Soren tried to ignore the fact that he very obviously sunk several inches in his chair from the weight of his tome. He nicked his fingertips and idly turned a few pages of his musty book, fingers stiff and spine stiff and toes in his boots stiff.

He was angry—but he was hardly going to give Ranulf the satisfaction. No, not at all.

Soren blinked, focusing hard on the text but not digesting a single drop of the knowledge.

_Dammit, Ranulf. _

It shouldn't have bothered him at all, as back in Crimea he heard insults from Shinon's foul mouth fly just as quickly as his arrows every other day, always acute and always savage when they struck. But Shinon was simply a bumbling idiot, and Soren made it a point to take comfort in that fact. But Ranulf one the other hand...

He was as far from a fool as Ike was from a villian.

Ranulf _wasn't_ stupid. He was incredibly smart for a laguz. Well versed in the matter of politics, a strong fighter, and while it was absolutely painful to admit... he wasn't half-bad for a tactician, either.

So why exactly was he acting the way he was now? What had happened during the meeting that changed him so drastically? Ranulf didn't honestly think _he_ wouldn't notice?

_...Did he?_

"...It seems we are at a bit of an impasse here." Ranulf had resumed watching Ike, eyes staring but Soren was sure seeing nothing.

"Yeah?"

"...I said, we are at an impasse."

"Yes, Ranulf. I heard that bit." Soren grimaced, mouth dry, and slammed his book shut with an audible snap. The laguz glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

"Yikes. Someone's getting a little worked up–"

"You're infuriating."

Ranulf presumed to bow mockingly, his hat's flaps flipping up and leveling with his ears. "Aaaaand you're an asshole! Congrats!"

Soren glared. "What exactly _happened,_ in that meeting, Ranulf?"

The laguz looked as though he had been punched, and for a brief moment, everything was at a standstill as he screwed his face up into a painful contortion.

"...What happened?" Soren repeated more softly.

It wasn't tenderness that made him speak quietly. No, it was the realization that so much as the wrong word or tone could eliminate his chances of receiving an honest answer—and that was what he wanted most.

And Ranulf looked as vulnerable as a weaponless soldier in the middle of a graveyard of corpses.

Wordlessly, the laguz crossed the room's dull stone floor towards the window, boots silent, a hand stretching outward for the latch before his legs even finished moving. The latch popped with a soft click, and Ranulf abruptly pushed it open against the howling winds and bowed his head over the sill into the darkness, figure still.

Soren merely stared in bewilderment. Then Ranulf's shoulders heaved with effort, the undeniable gut wrenching sound of him spilling his stomach's contents out into the open air, and Soren knew that what he had suspected was far worse than what it truly appeared to be if Ranulf was as sick as he was.

He turned his head away from the smell of vomit, face inscrutable—

—Only to meet the gaze of the savage Wolf Queen herself. He blinked in surprise, fingers gripping his tome as if it were a life line and he were about to be swept away as he stood from his chair abruptly, knees locked to steady himself beneath his lightly-woven robes.

"Lady Nailah..." Soren greeted her casually, despite the fact that he was still striving to gather his composure. His eye twitched with irritation from the horrible retching sounds behind him. "...May I ask what you are doing here?" He placed his tome on the seat behind him, smoothing out a wrinkle in his robes impassively.

_This is terrible timing._

The wolf laguz stepped into the space of the shadowed door frame nonchalantly, a small twitch of the cheek curling her pale lips into a pleasant expression of mirth. Her one eye glowed like serpentine in the fire light as she turned the full power of her gaze on him, a tan arm splayed out openly on her hip.

"It is good to see you again, Soren. Though, for all intents and purposes of my being here, the pleasantries will have to wait." Volug stepped in behind her, his gaze immediately fixating on Ranulf half-way out the window and he stared in silence as Ranulf heaved again. Nailah didn't look so much as taken a back or fazed.

"...I have come to see Ike," she said solemnly. "There are things to be discussed among us."

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0o0o0o0  
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**(A/N):** So? ...How was that darling bane of my existence? Terrible? Good? :D I sincerely hope you enjoyed it, whatever the case may be. ;)

...As a vaguely somewhat important sidenote, I'd just like to say that I will be *gone* for the next week and a half starting on the twenty-first, so if you leave a review or send me a PM or anything of the sort, I won't be able to get back to you until I return. Just thought I'd mention it so nobody's left hanging and wondering what happened to me if you comment... But anyhow... hope all you lovely readers out there have a wonderful night. I know I will be sleeping like the dead tonight. WOOOO... 8]


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